A Regret to Belong
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Trapped between the Muggle and Magic world, Hermione has never felt like she belonged. A painful childhood & recent divorce confirms her feelings. Draco wants to help her see that she does belong, in both places, and also to him. Nominated fiction.
1. Welcome Home

**all characters belong to JKR**

_**Summary:**_ Sometimes a person feels like they don't belong anywhere. Hermione felt like she didn't belong in the Magic world, or the Muggle world. She had regrets, and she had made mistakes, but all she wanted was to belong... somewhere, anywhere. Draco could help her belong, if she would only let him. He knew right where she belonged, she belonged with him. Banner by Cemicool! Thanks to her.

This story won best D/Hr Hurt/Comfort (Episkey) Award at the Livejournal New Library Awards. Thanks to everyone who voted for it!

*There is a video made by "I can spell confusion with a K" on youtube for this story. Thanks to her! Here is the Link: .com/watch?v=OSXo44deevE (Or go click the link on my Author's page.)

* * *

**A Regret to Belong**

By

Anne M.

* * *

**Chapter One: Welcome Home:**

Looking around at all the unfamiliar people she felt a pang of regret. She wanted someone to acknowledge her pain. She wanted someone to recognize the journey she had taken, and more than anything, she wanted to feel like she belonged. Yet here she was, in a room full of foreign faces, and she realized no one cared. No one gave a damn. That was how it should be. She would change it if she could, but she could not, so there was nothing to do about it.

Her train was late. That meant she would arrive late, and there was no way for her to let her father know. She paced back and forth, near the seats, and finally decided to sit down. A mother and a young son were sitting two seats over from her, and the little boy was crying. The mother looked overwhelmed. She looked at Hermione and said, "Do you mind watching him while I visit the restroom?"

Hermione thought it was odd that someone would ask a complete stranger to watch their small child, but she agreed. The little boy was still crying. Hermione sat next to him, looked around to make sure no one saw, and she used magic to transfigure a straw that she saw on the ground into a blue balloon. She handed it to the little boy, and he smiled and stopped crying. The mother came back, thanked Hermione, and did not even seem to notice the balloon.

Hermione went back to her own seat, but after a few moments, she felt anxious again, and started walking through the station once more. She stopped by the vending machines and a man came up behind her and said, "I saw what you did. I know what you are."

Hermione felt fear and turned around. It was Harry. She hit his chest. "You scared me."

"You scared me," he came back. "Why are you leaving without telling anyone goodbye?"

"I said goodbye," she reasoned.

"In a note, Hermione," he said back.

"My father needs me," she lied, looking down at the ground.

"I don't doubt that, but I do doubt that's why you're leaving. Tell me why, Hermione? Why are you running away?"

"I can't stand the pain any longer, Harry. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me," she said sadly.

"There's nothing to forgive, but you should know you can't run from your problems," he answered.

"Don't preach to me, please, Harry." Finally, a conductor called out that her train had arrived. "I have to go, Harry."

"Why are you taking the train? Why not apparate?" he asked.

"Because, I'm leaving the magic world behind," she answered with a smile, to show she was joking. Harry looked over at the little boy still holding the blue balloon.

"Really? Since ten seconds ago?" he asked.

She smiled again, kissed his cheek, and said, "I'll write. Goodbye." She walked toward her train, and climbed into the car. She found her seat and opened the window, to let in some air. Harry was still standing by the doors watching her. She put her hand up once more, to signal goodbye. She sat in the opposite seat so she didn't have to watch him as the train went away.

She had been traveling for two hours when the train finally stopped. She was napping, so the sudden stop, and the sound of the brakes, woke her from her slumber. She looked at her watch. She was almost two hours late. Her train was supposed to arrive at 2:00 pm, and it was after four. She wondered if her father waited for her. She exited the train, picked up her two suitcases and her satchel, and she stood at the little abandoned looking station. Only she and one other person exited here. The other person was picked up shortly after they arrived. That just left her.

She could apparate, but her father wouldn't like that. He never liked her using magic. His family didn't know she was a witch. Her parents were never married. He was married to another woman when he fell in love with her mother. Most considered her an accident, a mistake, but her mother and father always loved her. Her father's wife never liked her. She blamed her for her husband's indiscretions, which was ridiculous, but true. She had two older brothers whom she barely knew. Hermione had visited one week a summer, since she was young, but she was never made to feel welcome. She knew it wouldn't be any different now. Her father loved her, her brothers even loved her, but it was what Mrs. Granger thought that mattered, and she didn't even like Hermione.

Hermione's mother died when she was seven. Her grandparents raised her with love and happiness, always embracing her magic. Her grandmother died right after the war, and her grandfather died just last April. That was one reason Hermione couldn't face things any longer. It was a combination of things really: her grandfather's death, her dissatisfaction with her job, and now, her broken marriage. She was ashamed that she couldn't make her marriage work. She was only married a year and a half, and already divorced. Her biggest pain was that she had lost a baby. She was eight months pregnant. That was the kicker. Just one month to go, and she would have had a beautiful baby. She knew her marriage was over the minute she lost the baby. He did not say that was the reason he left her, but she knew it was. She mourned her little boy every single day.

Well, Hermione figured she had better start walking as her father's farm was far away. It wouldn't hurt to use magic to shrink her trunks would it? She didn't care; she had nothing to prove to anyone. She shrunk her luggage, and placed them in her purse. She started walking.

Her father lived in small community in western England farm country. He had been the only physician in the community, until his son joined his practice, and he came from a very distinguished, well off, family. He met her mother when he came to London for business, and even though he was married, he started an affair with her, and Hermione was the result. Everyone knew about his 'bastard' daughter. That was the way things were in small communities, everyone knew everyone's business. Still, most people always treated her with kindness and respect. Most people.

Hermione stopped to sit on the railing of a small bridge. She sighed, for she was already tired, and hungry. The afternoon sun was blaring hot. She wiped her brow, and leaned her head back, eyes closed. She liked the feel of the hot sun on her face. A car drove past her, her eyes still closed as it passed, but she heard it. She stood to continue walking, but noticed that the car had stopped on the other side of the bridge.

She started over the bridge, and noticed that the car started backing toward her. Maybe they were going to offer her a ride. She bent slightly, to look in the window. Suddenly, the car sped back up, and out of sight. Oh well, she would just continue to walk.

She reached the little hamlet, and stopped at the general store. She walked in, banging the screen door, and stepped over a large yellow and white cat that lay in the threshold.

She walked over to the counter, smiled, and asked if they had bottled water. The lady behind the counter said, "You wouldn't be Dr. Granger's daughter, would you?" Hermione nodded as the lady handed Hermione water. Hermione put some money on the counter, which the lady refused.

"Yes, I am, my train was late. Might I use your phone to call my father?" she asked, after she took a long drink.

"You could, but it would do no good, lovey. Your father, brothers, and most of the town are off at the dairy. There was an explosion, and a big fire."

"Oh, no, was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked with concern.

"I don't rightly know, miss, but I don't think it's a good thing. That diary employs a lot of the town folk, you know," the woman said.

"Goodness, well, perhaps I should just walk on to the house. It's not to far now. Thank you for the water," Hermione said.

"Surely, someone could drive you. It's still a right far way," the woman said.

"Oh, I'll be fine, thank you," Hermione said.

"Did you leave your luggage at the station?" she asked Hermione.

"Oh, yes, I did," Hermione lied. "Thank you again."

Hermione stepped back over the fat yellow cat, and back outside. Now she had no choice but to walk the rest of the way. The same big black car that stopped at the end of the bridge, and then drove away, was parked outside the store. Hermione glared at it for a moment, and without giving it much regard, she walked past. She was level with the back bumper when the passenger side door opened. She heard a man's voice say, "Get in."

She looked back, and walked over to the opened door. Without looking in, she heard the person say, "I don't have all day. Get in."

She looked in the car, to see who belonged to the voice. She stood back up, closed the door, and frowned. She started to walk fast down the sidewalk, crossing the street, to head back out to the main road out of the little town square. There was no way she was getting in a car with him.

What was he even doing here? She knew his parents had lived near here, but they had both died. Surely, he didn't live here now. She turned down the little winding road, right off the main road, and continued her walk, not giving him a second thought. He must have decided to forget about her as well because he didn't follow her.

She had to stop once more, after walking nearly an hour. The house would be in view soon, but she had to stop. She was so tired. She wondered if her father and brothers were back yet. She sat on a felled tree, by the side of the road. She saw the dirt lane that led to her father's house. Her father's family had a lot of money, and their house was secluded and quite large. Hermione's mother's family had even more money than the Grangers did, so money never was an issue for Hermione. Her grandparents left her everything. She began to play with her charm bracelet. Her mum gave it to her right before she died. Her father gave her a charm on every birthday. It was important to her; it was as if it was from the both of them. She took it off for a moment, to remove the last charm she had. She hadn't even remembered keeping it.

It was from her husband, and she didn't want anything to do with him, so she didn't want to keep this charm. She took it off, stood up, and threw it far across a field. Perhaps an animal would eat it. She laughed. She started to put the bracelet back on, but the clasp wouldn't shut, and it slipped off her arm. Hermione cursed under her breath, and bent on her knees in the tall grass, feeling around for the precious bracelet. She had not seen where it dropped. She reached in her purse, to get her wand, when the same black car that was stalking her from before stopped right in front of her.

The driver got out and walked around the side of the car. Hermione felt at a distinct disadvantage being on her hands and knees, especially in front of this man. She decided to stay where she was. She continued looking for her bracelet.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I lost my bracelet," she stated. He took out his wand, and in a second, her bracelet appeared in his hand. She stood up, and walked over to him, her hand out to retrieve her lost jewelry. Instead of handing it to her, he slipped it around her wrist, and closed the clasp.

"Your father asked me to come fetch you today. You weren't at the station when I first arrived, and I drove around forever looking for you," he said.

"My train was late, so while you were driving around looking for me, I wasn't even here yet. Why would my father ask you to come get me?" she asked.

"Well, he knows who I am, he knows what I am, and I suppose he was under the false impression that since we went to school together, we were friendly," he said.

"Is that why you left me on the bridge?" she said.

"I didn't see you on the bridge," he lied. She glared at him hard.

"I can walk, I'm almost there now," she said. "What are you doing back here?"

"That's a question I could level at you as well," he stated.

"Fine, you keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine." She continued up the lane. He got back in his car, and continued driving slowly behind her. She finally stopped and he rolled down the window.

"Why are you following me?" she asked.

"I promised your father I'd pick you up. I hardly want him to see you walking, but if you insist, I'm at least going to save face by driving next to you."

She made a 'tsk' noise, and opened the car door. She sat in the passenger side, and turned her head from him.

"Seriously, Granger, what are you doing here? You don't belong, you know," he said.

"I know. I don't belong anywhere, Malfoy," she answered glumly, staring at the passing scenery.

"Why take the train, why not use magic? I know no one around here knows what you are, but you father does," he leveled.

"I've always traveled here by train, for appearance sake, so it was just easier," she said.

"Did you husband not want to come along?" he asked.

"My husband is not my husband any longer," she sad sadly.

He let out a little laugh, which made her turn to him with anger, and he said, "Oh, sorry, it's just I knew you would come to your senses someday and leave the dolt."

"The dolt left me," she said. Why did she tell him that? She took a deep breath and said, "How about you, Malfoy, I don't see a wedding ring on your finger."

"No, no one has captured my heart yet, Granger. A few have tried to capture my purse strings, but not my heart." She actually smiled at that, and he smiled back.

They reached the driveway, and she said, "You can leave me here."

"Nothing doing. I don't want your father to think less of me," he said. "He was a very nice fellow to my mother toward the end of her life. Even though he was a Muggle physician, he gave her pain medicine and visited with her daily. I owe him a lot," Draco said.

Hermione never knew that. She knew her father was well respected in this small community, but she had no idea he was well regarded by the only wizard family within the area. They drove up to the house, and her brother Michael came running out of the front door. She exited the car and met him on the porch.

"We thought something bad happened to you!" he exclaimed, his arms going around her. "We were all tied up at a big fire at the Dairy."

"I heard. Is Dad here?" she asked.

"No, too many injured. Martin and he stayed behind. I came to see if you had arrived yet," Michael said. "Hello, Malfoy, thanks for bringing my baby sister home."

"Think nothing of it, Granger." Draco hadn't stepped completely out of his car, so it was easy for him to duck back in, and shut the door. Hermione climbed back down the porch, and ran to the car.

"Sorry about refusing the ride earlier," she said.

"It was more a hardship to you, not me." He smiled.

"Thanks," she said.

Her hand was on the car door. He reached out the window, put his hand on hers, and said, "You're welcome. Oh, and welcome home, Granger, welcome home." He waved and drove off, Hermione watching as he backed down the driveway. She turned back toward her brother, and walked in her father's house. She never thought she would step another foot in this house, and yet, here she was, but she didn't feel like she was home. She did not feel like she belonged here. As she told Malfoy, she never belonged anywhere.


	2. Wish You Weren't Here

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 2 – Wish You Weren't Here:****  
**  
Hermione's brother Michael was five years older than she was, with dark curly hair, just like hers, and a smile as long as can be. Hermione was not sure she had ever seen him unhappy, or unkind. Her eldest brother, Martin, was a physician like their father. He took after his mother in looks: black, straight hair, and always serious. He no longer lived at the house, but in a smaller house at the edge of the estate. He was eight years old when Hermione was born, so he was old enough to know that she did not really belong in their family. He always treated her with kindness, and he showed her respect, but he was more like a distant relative, than an older brother.

Their mother, Monica, was a raven-haired beauty, exotic, and warm, to everyone except Hermione. When Hermione was very young, all she ever wanted was a kind word from the woman, a hug, a smile, anything. When Hermione's mum died, she had fantasies that her father would come and bring her here, and Monica would treat her like her own daughter. That never happened, and it never would. Hermione was beyond letting that affect her.

The first summer she came here, she was only four years old. She had just met her father, and she thought he was akin to a king. She came here, for a whole week, promising her mum that she would act like a big girl, and be good, and say 'please' and 'thank you'. That was the first time she knew that people could hate other people for no valid reason. Monica hated her from the moment she met her. She assigned her a small bedroom, in the attic, which was sweltering hot under the summer sun, with one small window, and a small iron bed. Her father apologized, and told his little four-year-old daughter that the other four bedrooms in the house, (not counting the three used by the family) were being redecorated. Even at four, Hermione thought that was a lame excuse.

She cried herself to sleep that first night, missing her mum, afraid of every shadow she saw, and every noise she heard. There was a large elm tree outside the window, whose branches screeched against the windowpane at night. Hermione dreamt the tree was going to reach in and grab her in her sleep.

By the end of the first week, the little room grew on her. By the next summer, she heard her father fight with her stepmother, saying, "It was a sorry excuse last year, and I won't do it to her again. Prepare one of the other bedrooms for her." Monica told her father that she had already prepared the attic room. Hermione didn't care; she wanted to go up there. It felt familiar.

By the next year, Hermione had memorized every flower in the wallpaper, and every knot in the wooden floor. She had taken it upon herself to explore the rest of the attic, which lay beyond her little room. She found old costumes, and toys, and all sorts of treasures. She found an old dollhouse, and a china doll, which she was too afraid to sneak into her room, so she would sneak into the larger part of the attic, and play with them whenever she could. No one ever wondered where she was all day long. They were probably just happy she wasn't underfoot. Her mum had died that year, a few months before Hermione arrived, and it seemed no one there cared.

By age eight, Hermione's father had built her a bathroom, had put new wallpaper up, and curtains on the window. He had bought her a big bed, and new furniture. Monica must have hated that. That was the summer her brother Martin taught her to ride a bike. It was the only time she remembered him interacting with only her, with no one else present. It was also the summer he learned to drive, and he took her out to get ice cream, and when they got back, his mother yelled at him, because Hermione got ice cream on the suede seats of the car. He never took Hermione to get ice cream again.

The next four years passed by without much ado. The summer before she turned twelve, Hermione was ready to go to Hogwarts. Her grandparents reminded her not to tell a soul about her magic. They had told her father, and he said he had known of other 'gifted' people like her. On the way from the train station that year, he told her, "Monica must never know." Hermione thought it was a secret that she and her father shared. Now that she was older, she knew better. She knew he was slightly ashamed of her abilities.

Most of the holidays during her teen years were spent with Harry and Ron. There were four years, from ages 14 to 18, that she didn't even visit. The summer before she turned nineteen was the summer of the final battle with Voldemort. She needed a touchstone, her grandmother had just died, and she desperately needed her dad. She called him, and asked if she might come back. He told her he never understood why she had gone away in the first place. Thank goodness, that year she could do magic legally, and she put a cooling charm on the room, which meant no more hot summer nights.

She came only one more summer after that, two years later, the summer before she married. Her father didn't give her away at her wedding. His wife had conveniently planned a trip to Egypt that month. Her grandfather gave her away. Her stepmother sent her a present, two crystal wine flutes, one of which was cracked. Hermione threw them in the trash.

That was almost two years ago, and here she was again.

She entered the house, and Michael said, "Mother said that father wants you to stay in the front guestroom, so she had that made up for you."

"Oh, I would prefer my old room," she said.

"Come on, Hermione. That was a rotten room, and we all know it. You can't go up there, it's not even aired out, and the bed's not made up," Michael said. "Hey, where's your luggage?"

"Oh, it's back at the station," she lied.

"I'll go get it now. Go get a hot bath," he said.

Damn, she would have to apparate to the station and drop off her luggage. In the scheme of things, that made her little hike today really seem like a waste of time.

"Where's your mother?" Hermione asked.

"She's visiting with her sister for a few days. She will be back this weekend, in time for the party," Michael said. "Ta, Hermione. I'll go get your things, and I'll be right back."

"Ta, Michael," she said back. Hermione made sure Michael was in his car, before she apparated to the station, where she deposited her suitcases. She popped back to the house, and went up to the guestroom. It was beautiful, no doubt, but she wanted her little attic room. It was the only place in this big house where she felt that she even remotely belonged. She opened the grey door that led to the third floor staircase. She climbed the narrow stairs, and walked down the hall to her little attic room.

It looked like it did two years ago. She used magic to open the window, clean the dust and cobwebs away, and to change the sheets. She walked over to her little bathroom, and cleaned it with magic as well. She sat on the bed, and looked around. She was happy Monica wasn't going to be here, even if she was coming back soon, in time for the party.

The Grangers had a large party for the entire village every summer. It was an all day affair, with food, and entertainment, and plenty of drink. Hermione had only been here during one of their 'annual parties', the summer she was eleven, and she had to come the week before her usual week, because the week she was to come here, she had to go to Diagon Alley and shop for her school supplies. Monica wasn't happy she was there. She told her husband that she didn't want to 'flaunt' his little bastard for the entire village to see. Hermione overheard, and though she didn't know what that word meant, she was sure it wasn't a nice word, for her father was shocked. That was the only time Hermione ever saw Richard Granger show true anger to his wife. Hermione was so proud of him that day, for taking up for her, even if that was the only time.

Hermione decided to go downstairs. The housekeeper and the cook were present, as well as the two maids and the gardener. Hermione always felt more welcomed by the staff than by anyone else. She went to say hello to them all, and than she went out to the front porch, to wait for Michael to return.

She sat in one of the white rocking chairs, and shut her eyes. She started to sing a lullaby that her mother used to sing to her. She would have sung it to her baby boy, if he had lived. She rocked back and forth, still singing, her empty arms aching. She didn't see Draco arrive. He walked up to the side of the porch and listened intently to the melodic tones resonating from her soul. He was sure her song held some personal meaning, for she was crying, and apparently, not even aware of her own tears, as her eyes remained shut, her song still being sung, and her chair still rocking, back and forth. When she was done, she said to herself, "My poor baby boy." She wiped her eyes, and turned to the man invading her privacy.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, embarrassed that he had seen her crying.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose," Draco said. "That was a beautiful song. I never knew you could sing."

"I can't," she said humbly. She never liked compliments.

"You can," he said, nodding his head. "You really can." He wanted to ask her what she meant by the 'my poor baby boy' comment, but he didn't. "Are your father and brother back yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet. I don't know when they might be back," she said.

"Where's Michael?" Draco asked her.

She smiled, as she wiped the last tear from her cheek, and said, "He went back to the station to get my luggage."

He laughed and said, "See, you should have just apparated here in the first place."

"You wouldn't have had the fun afternoon you had, driving all around the countryside looking for me," she said.

"Too, true," he said. He climbed over the banister of the porch, and sat in a chair beside her. "So, I have a true purpose for coming here, do you want to know what it is?"

"Not really," she said. He frowned. She smiled. "Fine, tell me."

"Since your family has scattered to the four ends of the earth, come to my house and have some dinner with me. You must be famished," he offered.

She was. She really was. "I don't know, Malfoy, maybe that's not a good idea," she started.

"Oh yes, because I might hex you or something. This might be an elaborate plot to trick you into coming to my house, so I can hide you in my attic, and use you for a sex slave."

She laughed. "No, I just hide in this attic, but I'm no one's sex slave," she finally said.

"Come."

"I don't think so."

"Food, Granger. You like food, don't you?"

"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy."

"Fine, don't grace my presence with your company. Be rude and ignore my gracious offer. That's fine, I'll recover from the slight," he said with fake disdain as he stood to leave.

She watched as he walked off the porch. She said, "Goodbye, Malfoy."

He turned back around and said, "You really don't mean to come to my house for dinner?"

"Didn't I just say, 'Goodbye'?" she asked.

"You, my dear Granger, are what we upper class people commonly refer to as an ingrate," he said, only half joking.

She didn't know what to say to that. She **was **acting ungrateful. She looked at the floor of the porch, and said, "Why would you want to eat with me?"

"My stars, Hermione, who broke you?" he asked. "At least yell at me, fight with me, and call me some sort of name. I insulted you, I was a right bastard, and there you sit, all humble and sweet, and it makes me sick," he said. He walked away and said, "I don't even want to eat with you anymore." He turned to look at her, and she was crying.

"Damn, Granger, don't cry!" He ran back up to the porch. He sat back beside her, in the empty rocker to her right, and said, "Why the hell are you crying?"

"Where do I belong, Malfoy?" she asked. She stood up and shook her head. She didn't want him to see her unhappy and alone. "No, you know what? You're a prat, Malfoy, so don't answer my question. I don't need you to tell me where I belong. And you know what else? How dare you talk to me that way? Who are you, anyway? Why would I want to eat with a stuck up, pureblood, ex-Death Eater? Go away; you pollute the air I breathe with your blue-blood, breathing." She stood up to walk in the house and he clapped his hands and laughed.

She turned back around and said, "Are you laughing at me?"

"I am. I truly am. You're a right funny little thing. 'Polluting the air I breathe', I mean, priceless. Now, are you coming to dinner or not? We can leave your family a note. I'll even write it in my own blood, instead of yours, if you want," he said.

"First, that's sick. Second, why would I want to eat with you, really? I wouldn't. I didn't even want to get in the car with you earlier," she said.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said. He used his wand, summoned a piece of paper and a pen, wrote a quick note to her family, attached it to the front door, and grabbed her hand. She was shocked.

He said, "Do you care if we apparate?" Before she could answer, they disappeared.


	3. Home, Sweet, Home

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 3 – Home, Sweet, Home:****  
**  
Hermione felt woozy from the side-along apparition. She turned to Draco and actually slapped him upside the back of his head, hard, with her open hand.

"Ouch, you bully," Draco said. "See, that's what I mean by 'ingrate', Granger, hitting a man in the back of the head because he does you a favour."

"You kidnapped me!" Hermione shouted. She started walking around the large foyer. "What is this place?"

"My summer home, 'The Green Elms'. It's actually just up the lane from your folks," he said.

"Don't call them that." She turned to him, pointing her finger at his face. "You can call them my dad and his wife, but don't ever call them 'my folks' and especially don't ever call HER my 'stepmother', wicked though she might be."

"A bit touchy, aren't you?" Draco asked.

"No, actually, it's her preference, not mine. I once called her 'my stepmother', not even to her face, but to a neighbour of theirs, I mean, I just referred to them as my dad and my stepmother, and when we got back to their house, I was slapped in the face and told that I was never, ever, to call her that again."

"She slapped you?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"What did your dad do when he found out?" Draco asked.

"He was there, he witnessed the whole thing. He felt bad, and apologized to me later, but what you have to understand, Draco," Hermione began, "is that I am his mistake, and one that he must make amends for every hour of every day. He cheated on his wife, in more ways than one, because he fell in love with my mum, and I was the result, so he must make that up to his wife in some way or the other."

When she finished he was surprised. "Your dad always seemed like such a nice chap, too."

"He is nice, just, I don't know." She could not find the right words.

"No, Hermione, he's not a nice man to let a grown woman hit a child in the face. How old were you?" he asked.

"Nine," she said. "Listen, let's not talk about this anymore, I'm sorry I mentioned it."

He grinned and said, "Weren't you ever tempted, you know, when you were older, to hex her, or turn her hair pink, or something?"

She laughed and said, "I might have done a few things, but nothing worth talking about."

"No, you have to tell me now," he pleaded, with a smile.

"I thought you were going to feed me," she said.

"Food is after the entertainment, and you are the entertainment. Start talking." He took her hand and led her to the sitting room.

"Well, the last time I was here, and I was way beyond the age of consent, so I couldn't get in trouble with the Ministry, I…I…no, I can't tell you," she said, covering her face with her hands.

"Now you have to," he said sincerely.

"Okay, well, she was on one of her many, many diets, because they were going on a cruise, and all she ate everyday was these diet milkshakes. I might have switched them with real milkshakes, with a lot more calories, and I charmed them to taste the same, and by the end of the summer, not only had she not lost any weight, but she had gained something like a stone or two." Hermione looked shocked, and she was the one who told the story.

"You're joking," he said, seriously.

"Well, I guess she gained exactly 1.7 stones, but she went up two whole dress sizes, and she had already bought a whole new wardrobe for their trip, and she cried and cried because all her new clothes didn't fit her. The thing was they wouldn't have fit anyway, because I had already shrunk them all down two sizes, anyway."

Draco started laughing and said, "When did you say you did this?"

"The last summer I was here, a couple years ago. Wow, when I put it like that, that seems really immature," she reasoned.

"But wickedly entertaining, almost something I would expect from a former Slytherin, not a former goodie-goodie Gryffindor," Draco responded.

"I not that good, but I'm starving, where is the food that was promised me?" she asked.

He started toward a set of double doors, which led to a large screened in porch. "Here you go," he said. There was a table, with white linens, candles, wine, and enough food for ten people.

"Were you expecting anyone else?" she asked.

"I wasn't really expecting you, I thought for sure you wouldn't come," he said, pulling out her chair.

"I was kidnapped, remember?" she asked. She took a bite of the salad, and said, "Who prepared this little feast?"

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "You will just scream at me again, and talk about my bloody blue balls or whatever you said, if I tell you."

Hermione almost choked on her food, and said, "Bloody blue balls? What are you talking about, Malfoy? Oh, you mean when I said, 'your blue blood breathing'! Oh, Malfoy, you are such a riot!" She laughed very hard. "Okay, continue, why might I scream at you again?"

"Because I have house elves here, and I know you hate house elves," he said, taking a bite of his steak.

"I don't hate the house elves themselves, I hate the fact that they are enslaved by bloody blue balls like you," she said, still laughing. "Do you know what that even means?"

"Not only do I know, but, more importantly, do you?" he asked, shaking his fork at her.

She shook her head and said, "It's good to laugh again. I haven't laughed in such a very long time." She suddenly looked thoughtful.

"About that, when did you divorce?" he asked bluntly.

"Just a few months ago," she replied.

"I was shocked when I heard you married that man anyway. He was a right idiot, the last I recall," he said.

"No, he wasn't," she defended.

"Yes, he really was. Why did you divorce?" he asked.

"What's with all the questions?" she asked.

"I just wondered," he said to her.

"Well, keep wondering," she said ruefully. They finished eating in utter silence. Hermione felt it was awkward. Finally, she said, "How do you know my dad?"

"A few years ago, after my father died, my mother came here for the summer. I was visiting her, and she became very, very ill. There were no Healers around, her own personal Healer was out of the country, and she refused to go to St. Mungos. I recalled that your father lived near here, so I went and saw him, told him you and I went to school together, and might he come see my ill mother. He came and they became friends. She had a heart disease, and she was never really better. She died two years later, and whenever she came here, he tended to her medical needs," Draco explained.

"That's nice," Hermione said. She did think that was nice.

"I thought when I told him my name, he would have said 'no'," Draco admitted.

"Why would that have mattered?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I wasn't exactly a friend of yours, was I?" he commented.

"My dad wouldn't have known that," Hermione stated. "I never once talked to him about my friends or my enemies, or anything to do with magic. He's not even ever heard me talk about Ron or Harry, and they're my best friends. Now if my grandfather had ever met you, he probably would have popped you a good one."

"Why?" he asked. "I don't mean why your grandfather would pop me a good one, I mean, why doesn't your father know about your friends and in my case, your enemies?"

"Because it's part of my other world. He doesn't even know about Voldemort, or the war, or anything," she explained. "He doesn't even know about my divorce or my miscarriage." As soon as she said it, she remembered that Draco did not know about her miscarriage either.

She couldn't look up at him. She kept her gaze on her empty plate. He finally said, "Do you want to talk about it?" He now understood the comment she made earlier on her porch, after singing the lullaby.

"No, what I want is a tour of this place, Malfoy," she said lightly.

"I shall oblige," he said. He stood and held out his arm. She took it. As they walked around his house, and he pointed out different rooms, and paintings and art pieces, he thought that it was odd that her own father wouldn't know about her role in the war, or the fact that she had spent so much of her teenage years in danger. He didn't even know she had a miscarriage. What kind of family did she have?

They reached a set of stairs off the second floor and she asked, "What's up there?"

"Just an attic," he said.

"Let's have a look," she said, as she started to open the door.

"Let's not, surely you don't want to see an old attic," he said.

"Of course I do, old attics are my specialty," she regaled.

He didn't understand what she meant, but he said, "Time to take you up to my attic, then, to make you my sex slave. I wasn't kidding about that part earlier."

She said, "What are we waiting for, then?"

"You were never this much fun in school," he said.

"Yes I was, you just were too busy hating me to notice," she responded, walking up the narrow staircase with him.

"That's true, hating you was a full time job back then," he said. They entered the large, open attic, and it was apparent it was used as a studio.

"Do you paint?" she asked, going over to look at some canvases up against the wall, and one that was on an easel.

"A wee bit," he said, bashfully.

"These are quite good, Malfoy, who knew you had any sort of talent, besides the talent to malign other people's character and cause havoc wherever you went?" she asked, moving aside some of the smaller canvases, to look at the larger ones behind. "You could go professional; you should have a show or something. Show at a gallery, either a magical one or a Muggle one. I'm serious." She was still looking at his paintings. She walked over to the other side of the attic, where there were crates of paintings. "May I?" she asked. He could only nod his head. She walked over to the crates, and started to look through the paintings there.

Suddenly, she heard a grandfather clock from the second floor-landing chime. She said, "Goodness, what's the time, Malfoy?"

"Shut up and I'll count the dongs," he said. He counted the chimes and he said, "Apparently its nine o'clock."

"Time to go back, I'm afraid," she said. "I've had a nice evening, who knew you could be pleasant company."

"And who knew you could be witty and delightful," he said back. He wasn't being malicious, but frank. "Come, I'll take you back."

"You don't have to, I can apparate. I'll just apparate up the driveway, in case my dad and older brother are home," she told him.

"I brought you here, I'll take you back, it's only right. I actually need to talk to your father for a moment, anyway, if he's back," Draco explained. She merely nodded, and she put her hand on his arm. He apparated them back to the side of her house. They walked up to the porch, and into the front doors.

"Hermione!" her father said joyfully from the front hall. "I was so happy that you went and had a bite to eat. We had quite a day around here, I must say," he said after kissing her cheek. He turned to Draco and said, "Nice to see you again, Draco. Thanks for picking up my daughter this afternoon."

"That's fine, sir," Draco said.

Hermione's oldest brother was standing in the hall. He walked up to her and kissed her cheek hesitantly. "How's Roger?" Martin asked.

"Oh, well, we actually got divorced," she admitted quickly. That was easier to say than she thought it would be. Her father and other brother turned to her, shocked.

"What?" Michael asked. "When did this happen?"

"Oh, a few months back," she stammered. She looked at Draco, wearily, and then said, "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, shall I? I'm very tired, right? I'll be up in the attic, goodnight everyone. Thanks, Draco." She smiled and walked up the stairs.

Draco noticed that the three Granger men exchanged confused stares. Draco was going to talk to Hermione's father, but decided that could wait until tomorrow. He bid the three men goodbye, and then, in a bit daring, he walked out their front door, and apparated to their attic.

Hermione was sitting on the bed. She almost screamed at the sight of him. She put her hand over her heart and said, "Is it your goal to give me a heart attack and kill me before my visit is over?"

"We can discuss my killing you later," he joked. "You know, I told you the truth when I said that Davies was never good enough for you. I remember he was a pompous, stuck up git, who thought he was better than everyone else."

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "Are you sure you aren't talking about yourself?"

"You are no longer funny," he said, adding, "Tell me why you divorced, Granger."

"Oh Draco, it's complicated," she said. She kicked off her shoes, and lay back on the bed. He walked over to her little window, and opened the sash. He sat down on the other side of the bed.

"I'm not a child anymore, Hermione. I am not some oppressive bully who is waiting in the wings to make fun of your misfortunes. I've grown and matured, and I would like to think that you and I could be friends someday. Just tell me; maybe it will make you feel better."

She closed her eyes and said, "Nothing will make me feel better, and I've never told anyone the truth, not even Harry or Ron." She took a deep breath in, and exhaled it slowly.

"Did you divorce before or after your miscarriage?" he asked, lying on his side, beside her.

She turned her head to look at him and said, "This is odd, isn't it? You and I, talking like friends, on the same bed together. Hell, even being in the same room together is odd."

"Yes, we make odd bedfellows," he agreed. She turned to her side, and looked at him.

"We divorced after my miscarriage," she said. "No, let me amend that statement, we divorced because of my miscarriage." She shut her eyes again and said, "That's all you need to know right now. I can't talk of it, not yet, please, respect that." She kept her eyes shut for the longest time. He thought she was trying to avoid him, or force him to leave by ignoring him. Actually, she had just fallen asleep.

When he finally realized she was sleeping, he took his wand, caste a cooling charm, put a locking charm on her door, and he quietly took off his shoes. He lay back down on the bed, and fluffed the pillows. He was comfortable. He might as well stay here. He probably couldn't sleep anyway. He would be thinking about her all night. He looked back over to her, and touched her hair lightly. He couldn't imagine anyone ever divorcing someone like her. As he said, the man always was a fool.


	4. My Blanket is Your Blanket

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 4 – My Blanket is Your Blanket:**

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. It was very early; the room was still more dark than light. She saw him as soon as she woke. He looked peaceful. Should she end his peace or leave him be? What if someone had come upstairs and seen them? As soon as she had that thought, she remembered that no one ever came up here.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed, and noticed she had fallen asleep in her clothes, on top of the covers. Perhaps he fell asleep innocently enough, just as she did. She walked over to the bathroom, took a shower, and changed. When she came back out to her room, he was gone. Just like that. No dramatic exchange or witty words bantered back and forth, just gone. He made his quick escape.

Hermione dressed in a pair of white shorts and a light blue summer cotton top over a blue camisole. She put a pair of sandals on, grabbed a canvas bag and a book, and walked downstairs. As soon as she made it down the second set of stairs, she heard Monica's voice.

"Richard, I just wish she hadn't picked this week to come. We are all going to be too busy to pay her any mind," Monica said from the dining room.

Hermione heard Michael say, "Then she should feel right at home." He laughed. Hermione could just imagine the dirty look his mother was giving him.

"I can't believe she didn't tell us she got divorced," Richard said.

"Probably ashamed, isn't she?" Monica said, "Can't even keep a husband. He was too good for her," she added.

"Now, now," was all her father said in response. Hermione felt like screaming.

She walked into the dining room and said, "Actually, Monica, there are many people who would agree with you."

Monica didn't seem the least bit embarrassed that Hermione heard, nor did she greet her good morning. Hermione filled her plate and began to eat.

Monica began telling her sons what was expected of them the next few days, regarding plans for the party. She turned to Hermione and said, "I hope you brought something appropriate to wear."

"I was under the impression that I wasn't invited," she said. Hermione was not a child any longer, and this woman would no longer get the best of her.

"Of course you have to come, the whole damn village knows you're here," Monica said snidely.

"Yes, we wouldn't want them to think you have me chained in the attic," Hermione said. Michael laughed outright, and even Martin snickered.

"Perhaps you could go to town tomorrow and buy a new dress, Hermione. Michael can take you. Now, what's your plans today, sweetheart?" her father asked.

"I'm going on a long walk, with a good book," she said. After she ate, that was just what she did. She grabbed an old blanket (well the one from her bed, but it was rather old), and her book, her sunglasses, some water, some snacks, and stuffed everything in her bag, and headed out the back door.

Her father's land was beautiful. Rolling hills, tall trees, open meadows with tall grass. The sky even seemed bluer here. She went to her favourite spot to read. It was right beyond a field of wildflowers, and beyond an open meadow. There was a small creek, and plenty of soft grass. She spread her blanket, picked up her book, and started to read. The book she brought was a book she read every year that she came here. She found it when she was ten, in her attic, and she fell in love with it. It was 'Little Women'. She had it memorized, by heart, but she still loved reading it. These four sisters had a mother and a father that loved each other, and they had each other. Hermione always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling who truly loved you, and would do anything for you.

She read for a while, and then searched her bag for one of the apples she had placed inside it. She found her nourishment, and took a big bite. These were the things she liked about coming here: the fresh air, the smell of the grass, the sounds of the bubbling creek, a good book, and a sweet delicious apple. It almost made up for Monica. She ate the rest of the apple, and threw the core in the creek. She put her book on the blanket, and decided to catch a nap. She lay on her back, took off her shoes, crossed her legs, and put her sunglasses on her chest. With her eyes shut, she could hear every little thing, birds in the air, and bees in the fields. The sun was warm and tempting on her face. Knowing no one was around, she slipped off her blouse, leaving only her blue camisole, and she lay back down. She shut her eyes again, but after a short while, she no longer felt the sun on her face. She opened her eyes, to see if the clouds had overtaken the sun, when instead, she saw the outline of a person standing over her.

"Are your sunbathing?" Draco asked.

"Are you?" she asked.

"Apparently not, but if that's an invitation to join you, I would be delighted," he said. He sat down on her blanket, beside her, in the opposite direction. "Your brother Martin said I might find you out here."

"Why were you looking for me?" she asked, slipping her sunglasses back on.

"You left this at my house," he said, holding up her bracelet.

She threw her glasses back off and took the bracelet from his hand. "Oh, the clasp is so loose these days. I didn't even notice I didn't have it on my wrist." She slipped it in her bag.

"Aren't you going to put it back on?" he asked.

She took it back out of her bag and said, "I suppose," and she held out her arm and handed him the bracelet. He acknowledged her request by taking the bracelet. He put it on her.

He said, "Tell me about some of the charms."

"Well," she started slowly, "this was my first." She pointed to an open book. He laughed.

"Of course, little bookworm from the beginning," he stated.

She grimaced and hit him with her big book. "It was from my mum. This little lion is from my grandparents, when I made Gryffindor. This ballet slipper is from my dad, because he heard I had taken lessons, which I hadn't, but it was the thought that counts. This little flower was from Harry, it's a lily, his mother's name. This sun was from Ron, who told me once that I light up his life." She stopped talking for a moment, reflective.

"What one did you throw off the other day?" he asked.

"You didn't see that, you weren't around," she said, bewildered.

"I was making assumptions, but now I know I was right." He seemed pleased.

"It was one from Roger. It was a stupid little circle, supposedly signifying our never-ending love. How stupid," she waned. She looked back over at him and said, "Seriously, what are you doing here, in Muggle-land?"

"Muggle-land?" he laughed. "You do have your moments, don't you? I'll tell you that story another time. When I started out here, your father's wife, whom I found to be a perfectly charming woman, so I immediately disliked her, invited me to their little gathering on Saturday."

"Did she now?" Hermione gazed at him. "And what was your reply to her gracious invitation?"

"Of course I said yes," he said. He leaned back on her blanket and shut his eyes.

"You're imposing on my privacy," she told him.

"No, you are imposing on mine, now hush," he said. She looked at him. His hand was waving in front of his face, where a fly had just been. She reached over to her side and grabbed a long blade of grass. She moved it over his nose. He waved his hand. She did it once more. He waved his hand again. She concentrated very hard, biting down on her lip, and this time she touched his nose with it. His eyes flew open; he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her down on top of him.

"How old are you?" he smirked.

"I didn't do anything, it was a fly," she lied with a smile. He let go of her wrist, and she started to push off his chest, but his arms went tight around her waist. Now she no longer felt mischievous. She felt apprehensive. She felt tingly and lightheaded. To keep the mood light, she said, "Unhand me, sir, or face the consequences of my wrath." She smiled.

To his credit, he let her go. She sat up and put her blouse back over her shirt. She was just aware of only having a camisole on when he pressed her chest up against his. She looked over at him quickly, and he seemed to be blushing as well. He rolled to his side, head held up by his hand.

She drew her knees to her chest, as he asked, "How long are you going to be here, Granger?"

"As long as it takes," she said.

He did not ask her to elaborate. He sat up and said, "Will you be my escort to your parents' party? I mean your father and his wife's party?" He smiled at his slip up.

"I guess," she said. "Who would have thought that the only friendly face I might see would be yours."

"It is a weird world in which we find ourselves. Well, Granger, I must go find something to eat, for its lunchtime. I'll see you at the party." He stood up and straightened his summer trousers. He started to walk away, but something hit him in the back. He turned around, looked at her, and then he looked at the ground. There was an apple.

"Is that some weird Muggle-born way of asking me to join you for lunch, hit me with food? For if it is, I must say I hope you don't have a ham in your little bag," he sneered. He bent down for the apple, and took a bite. She reached in her bag and withdrew some of the crackers she put in there. She nibbled on a cracker, as he came and sat back down.

"Water?" she asked.

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

"Water?" she asked again, smiling.

"Fine, give me the water," he said. She handed him a bottle of water. She opened a bottle for herself.

"When I was younger, I would come to this spot, my bag busting with food, I would bring a book or two, and spend all day here, reading, sunbathing, wadding in the water. This was my secret spot, though it's not a secret," she said.

"Thanks for sharing it with me," he said humbly.

"Well, I'm actually not sharing, since you imposed. I'm thinking of charging you rent," she said.

"Rent?"

"Yes, you may stay here with me, in exchange for one of your paintings. The small one that was on the easel, the landscape with the setting sun and the pink sky," she said.

"It's yours," he promised, "but, I have a condition as well."

"Of course you do, you're a cunning, shrewd person, and I would expect nothing else, tell me your conditions…wait, no attic sex slaves, okay?" she said.

"Damn," he said. "Let me think for a moment, then." He pretended to mull over her conditions, and said, "Let me paint you."

"What colour?" she said, laughing.

"I'm serious. Of course, when I paint people, I only do nudes," he said with a glint in his eye.

"Come to think of it, I didn't see any portraits among your paintings, only still-life's, landscapes, and abstracts," she pointed out.

"Exactly, so I would like to give it a try. I paint you, and your payment is that little landscape you want," he bargained.

"Wait, the landscape was the rent for sharing my blanket. Do you always twist things to your advantage?" she asked.

He said, "Always."

She started to stand up, and she said, "If you can catch me before I reach that tree, you may paint me, with clothes." She threw water from her water bottle at him and ran away as fast as she could. He was so shocked, at the dousing and her playfulness, so it took him a moment to stand and run after her.

He still easily caught her, as she was sans shoes. He pulled her to him, grabbing her around the waist. He swung her around. He felt a heady rush of excitement when he caught her. He quickly let her go and said, "I win. I get to share your blanket, and I get to paint you." He jogged back over to the blanket. She walked slowly, out of breath.

He lay back down on the blanket, once again closed his eyes. She suddenly cried out. He looked up. She was hobbling over to the blanket.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I stepped on a stone or something, and I cut my foot," she cried.

"That's what you get for walking around without shoes like some common ragamuffin," he stated. She sat down beside him and looked at the cut on her foot. It was more of a gash, and was quite large and deep.

"Shall I heal it?" he asked.

"Can you?" she asked back.

He took out his wand and said, "I have all sorts of abilities, which would curl even your hair, Granger." She sat, with her cut foot over her other leg, and he started to touch his wand to the laceration when she put her hand on his wrist suddenly. He looked up at her, about to tell her to trust him, when he noticed she was looking over his shoulder. He turned quickly and saw that her brother Michael was walking toward them. Draco quickly put his wand away.

When he approached, Michael said, "Hermione, did you cut your foot?"

"Yes, on a rock or something," she said.

"Well, good thing you know a couple of doctors, that might need stitches. When was your last tetanus shot?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes grew wide as Draco snickered. She glared at him quickly as her brother kneeled down to look at her foot. "I don't know when my last shot was," she said.

"Dad always says when someone says they don't know when they had their last tetanus that means they get one that day. Come on, I'll carry you back," Michael said. "Draco, will you get her things?"

"Michael, I can walk," she said. Before either could do or say any more, Draco stood up and scooped her in his arms.

"There you go, Granger, I've got your sister. You get her things." He could barely contain his smile. Michael walked ahead of them and Draco whispered in her ear, "They're going to sew you up like you are an old shirt. Yep, needle and thread and a shot with a big old needle. I bet it hurts."

"Draco, you idiot, it will hurt. I've had stitches here before. Hurry and heal me, and we will oblivate Michael's memory," she said, seriously.

"Don't worry, I'll hold your hand, and wipe your tears when they stick the needle in your bum," he said.

"My bum?" Hermione shouted toward Michael, "Mike, where will I get my shot?"

He smiled and turned around, "The last time Dad gave me a tetanus shot, it was in my bum." He turned back around.

"Malfoy, do something, please," she said, as he held her to his chest, carrying her as if she didn't weigh a thing.

"I said I would hold your hand. I'll even pull down your pants for him." He smiled. He jostled her so she was tighter in his arms. She was warm and soft against his chest. The feel of his hand around her smooth legs, and the other around her back, made him feel slightly aroused. He looked down at her face, to make fun of her some more, but she looked so worried, he decided not to. He slowed his walking, until Michael was pretty far ahead. He set her down on the ground suddenly, and pointed his wand at her foot. He healed her foot, except for the smallest, little scratch. "We must keep a small wound, for appearance sakes. This shouldn't require stitches and a shot will no longer be necessary."

"Thank you, Malfoy, that was almost, dare I say it, sweet," she said.

"Please, don't ever call me sweet again, or I shall have to hex you or something. There's nothing worse than being called sweet," he said with fake disdain. He added, "You can walk now." He stood up and offered his hand to her. She accepted and began to walk.

Michael had stopped and she ran up to him. Draco could not hear what they were saying, but he saw Hermione raise her foot, show it to her brother, he saw him shake his head in disbelief, and he watched as they walked off toward the house together. It was time for him to go.

Hermione turned back around, but Draco had already left. She wanted to say thank you again. No, she really just wanted to spend some more time with him, and she was not sure why. Maybe because when she was with him, it was so easy to forget all her troubles and worries. He didn't know her heartache, and he helped her forget. He was a piece of her past (an unpleasant past, at that), since they were not friends when they were young, but he made her feel more at home.

"Hermione, are you coming?" Michael called, as he entered the gate to the back garden. She turned back around and walked toward her brother.

Draco apparated to his attic, took the painting of the landscape with the pink sunset, wrapped it in brown paper and twine, wrote her a note, and attached the note to the front. He would bring it to dinner tonight. She would be surprised when she found out that her father's wife had invited him to dinner tonight, especially since he told her the next time he would see her would be at the party. He hoped she would be pleasantly surprised.


	5. A Guest is Treated Better than Family

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 5 – A Guest is Treated Better Than Family:**

Hermione went right up to her room. Michael went down to the kitchen. His brother Martin was sitting at the long wooden worktable, eating a biscuit. Their mother hated the family to set foot in the kitchen, so Michael was surprised to see his older brother there.

"Why aren't you at work?" Michael asked.

"Why aren't you? This farm doesn't run itself," Martin remarked.

"That's why we have farmhands," Michael laughed. "Hey, since you're here, will you go look at Hermione's foot. She cut it today, and I could swear it needed stitches, but suddenly, it was just a small scratch. It was like it was healed, like magic." Michael took the second biscuit off Martin's plate, and walked back outside. Martin walked the three flights of stairs required to visit his sister's room.

It was already frightfully hot in the attic, and it was only June. It was 3:00 pm, so the heat of the day was at its worse, so Hermione cast a slight cooling charm in her room, and sat on her bed to look at her foot. Her head popped up, when she heard footsteps on the attic stairs. Who was coming up to see her? No one ever came up here. She was not sure she had ever heard footsteps on her stairs. The noise was completely foreign to her. She was actually scared at first, but then she heard a knock on the door. Whoever her intruder was, he or she was at least polite, since they knocked.

She heard, "Hermione, it's Martin, may I enter?"

"Come in," she said.

He opened the door and looked around. He said, "I haven't been up here since Dad and I wallpapered the walls, a long time ago." It was as if he said it to himself, more than to her. He addressed her next. "You know, you don't have to stay up here anymore." Before she could respond to that statement, he said, "Mike said you hurt your foot, do you want me to have a look?"

"No its fine, really, hardly a scratch," she said, putting her sandal back on her foot.

"He said it was really bad, but then, poof, it was better, as if healed by magic," he said, without a hint of sarcasm.

"Well, that's silly. There's no such thing as magic," Hermione responded, standing up.

"It's nice and cool up here. I always thought it would be sweltering hot. That's how I remember it," Martin said.

Hermione forgot about her cooling charm. "Good ventilation," Hermione said.

"Right," Martin replied. He sat beside her on the bed. He smiled at her, knowingly.

"Fine, Marty, how long have you known?" she asked.

"I've always known. I read the letter that your grandmother sent to Dad when you were accepted to your 'boarding school'. Don't worry, no one else knows that I know, and Mum and Mike are completely in the dark," Martin explained. He stood back up for he seemed uncomfortable.

Sensing this, she said, "Is that why you've always kept your distance? You aren't afraid of me, are you, because I would never, I mean, I couldn't do anything bad to any of you."

"I know that, and I haven't been distant, have I?" he asked.

"Well, yes, all my life," she said sadly. She looked down at the floor.

"Is that why you felt the need to hide your divorce from us?" he asked.

She stood up and walked over to the window. She looked out. "Martin, if you only knew the half of what I've hidden from you all." She sighed.

"Hermione, I need to say something to you, which I should have said a long time ago, or maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but, you should never have ever been put up here, like a secret that my mother wanted to hide away. You were such a little slip of a girl, so pretty, and sweet, I was old enough to know better, and I should have protected you from her. I saw that Dad was weak, and would never go against her. Hell, he waited until she went on a trip to China before he came up here and redecorated your room, and added the bathroom, and he never told her. She might still not know."

"What I'm trying to say is, I should have been a better brother to you, and I hope it's not too late."

She didn't know what to say. She kept quiet for a while, but then said, "I always thought you hated me. I thought you resented me. I thought I was a burden to you all." She hung her head.

"You were a little girl. How could I hate you? The truth is, I was afraid to get close to you, because I thought my mother would find someway to ruin it. Hermione, I cannot say anything, for I knew you felt that way, I did nothing to stop it, and I am sorry. Hey, you know, I live in Uncle Embry's old house. Why don't you come and stay with me. It has to be better than this attic. There are four bedrooms, and only me," Martin said. He came and stood beside her.

She turned around, shocked and said, "Maybe I will. Let me think on it. I am glad we had this talk. Let's not wait another twenty years." She laughed.

"Did you hear Mother invited Draco Malfoy to dinner?" Martin asked. Hermione looked shocked. He said, "I guess that's a no."

"Why? What purpose would she have to invite him?" she asked.

"Well, he's rich, and well, he's rich." Martin smiled and touched her arm. "It's all about appearances to her, you know. See you at dinner." He walked out of her room.

Hermione felt relieved that he had come upstairs. She was surprised that he had known about her magic all these years and had never told anyone. She had new respect for her eldest brother.

Now, she had to worry about Draco. Draco was coming to dinner. Why? She went to run a bath, and while the water filled the tub, she remembered the last time she saw him. It was at a Ministry dinner, and since she and Roger both worked at the Ministry, they were obliged to attend. It was a charity event, Draco was there with some beautiful woman, and they sat at a table next to Hermione's table. Draco smiled at her once, and later in the evening, stopped by their table and said hello to her, while Roger was off 'making contacts'. That was the last time she saw him, not counting yesterday. Why was he being so affable and gracious? Not that she minded. A nice, friendly Malfoy was easier to abide than a mean, spiteful, spoiled one.

As she took her bath, she wondered why she was looking forward to seeing Draco. She had even been thinking of excuses to see him again, right before Martin told her he was coming to dinner. She finally stepped out of the tub and 'dressed' for dinner. Monica always insisted that the family 'dress' for dinner. Another way of putting on airs.

She joined her father and eldest brother in the sitting room. Her father asked her about her day. She was not listening to him. She was listening for a knock on the door. When it came at last, she found herself standing up, to go answer. Monica came down the stairs and answered first.

"Mr. Malfoy, we are so honoured you came tonight," Monica said. Hermione stood in the doorway of the lounge, watching as Draco handed Monica a bottle of wine and some flowers.

They walked past Hermione, almost as if neither noticed her, except as Draco passed, he pressed something in her hand. She looked at the small piece of paper and it said, "Your present is already in your room." She didn't have a pocket in her dress, so she put the note in a planter and sat down.

Monica was hogging the conversation. She asked Draco what brought him back to the area, what he did for a living these days, what was the news in London, etc. His answers were borderline boring, he came back for a rest, he did nothing for a living but spend his inheritance, London was the same as always. Hermione didn't know if he was being boring on purpose, or what, but she knew he was usually quite interesting. Why did she just think that? She stood up and started out of the room, when her father said, "Be a good girl and make our guest a drink, Hermione."

She turned to ask him what he wanted, but Monica stood and offered him a martini. Hermione rolled her eyes and slipped out of the room unnoticed. That was how it always was. No one ever paid her any attention here, unless they wanted something from her, and she guessed Draco was the same, as he had yet to look at her once, or direct any part of the conversation to her.

The maid came in and told everyone that dinner was ready. Hermione was sitting on the stairs. Perhaps no one would notice if she went upstairs. They usually didn't. She had missed many dinners in this house. Why did she suddenly feel like a small child again? Why did she let them have this much power and control over her feelings and emotions?

She stood up and turned to head upstairs, when she heard Draco at the bottom of the stairs. "May I escort you to the dining room?" he asked.

"I have a headache," she lied.

"No you don't," he reprimanded. "Come, its bordering on rudeness to refuse your guest your company."

"I was thinking that you were bordering on boring back there," she admitted, adding, "You don't need my company."

"Don't tell me what I need or don't need. Come on, Granger, I will cause a scene if you don't escort me to the dining room this instant."

He smiled up at her and held out his arm.

She smiled down at him and took his arm.

They went to the dining room together. Hermione sat beside Draco, next to her father. Everyone was talking, apart from her. Draco had never heard her so quiet before. He kept stealing glances toward her. It was as if no one even cared that she was not talking. It was as if she was part of the décor, not a member of the family.

Draco finally decided to talk to her. Draw her out. "So, Hermione how's work?"

Monica answered, "She doesn't work."

Draco knew that was a lie. She had a very high-powered job at the Ministry, working in the Department of Muggle Relations. She didn't respond to his queries. He said, "My mistake."

"And before you ask her about her marriage, she's divorced now," Monica said. Everyone at the table looked shocked that Monica would be so blunt. Hermione's hands went to her lap and her head hung lower. Monica continued, "She wasn't even married two years, and Roger was such a nice young man, the two times I met him. Comes from a very nice family, I understand."

Hermione flinched. Draco reached under the table to grab her hand. She would not allow it and she brought her hands back up to the table.

Monica's tirade continued, "She didn't even go to University. She's living off her grandparent's money, good thing they left her some. Both my sons went to college, and earned degrees. We are very proud of them."

Draco happened to know that she did go to University. What he didn't know was why did he know more about her than they did?

Monica started droning on about the party next. All the men at the table, besides Draco, seemed interested in the subject. As soon as dessert came, Hermione excused herself. She went up to her room.

She saw a large brown paper package, tied with twine, on her bed. She unwrapped it and saw that it was the painting she wanted. For some reason, she started to cry. Why was a man who was once her enemy being kinder to her than her family was?

She sat on the bed and cried for an hour. Dinner had to be over by now, and perhaps Draco had left. She put on a lightweight cardigan and went down the stairs. Everyone was on the side porch, enjoying the quiet summer evening. Hermione slipped past and started to walk up the lane, hoping the darkness of the evening would disguise her retreat. Draco saw her leave, and excused himself. "Thanks for dinner, and the wonderful conversation," he said aloud, while inside he cursed the day all of these people were born.

He found her at the edge of the front garden, sitting on the low brick wall that surrounded the house. "That was a breath of fresh air, quite pleasant indeed," Draco said from behind her.

"I'm glad you had a nice time," she said, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Do you know what I don't get?" he asked.

"You don't get a flutter in your heart when you look at Harry Potter?" she asked.

"My question was rhetorical, and your response was pure unadulterated crap," he said. "No, what I don't get is why you would come here, especially when you are going through a rough patch. You already feel sad and isolated, so you come here to feel worse? I mean, what's the reason?" He waited for her response. When none was forthcoming, he said, "Since they don't know anything about you, I feel it behooves me, as the only Granger acquaintance in these parts, to set the record straight with these people, at least about your past."

"What would you tell them, that I was a bucktooth, know it all, bookworm, for they already know that," she said. "I'm afraid that's all you know about my past as well."

He put his hand over his heart and said, "You wound me to the core, Granger. I know you were the brightest student in our year, hell, in the whole school. You fought bravely in the war, you went on to one of the finest Wizarding Universities in Europe, you have a very high position in the Ministry of Magic, and you are a loyal friend and a beautiful person."

"Those last two are dubious, and the rest are all about Magic, and since I can't tell them about that, you can't either," she snapped.

"Your dad should at least know," he deduced, jumping up on the wall beside her.

"He wouldn't care," she said. "Which reminds me, Draco, why do you? Care, that is."

"When I told you my mother was ill, I meant that. She was dying for almost a year. Her last four months were here, at The Green Elms. I told you she and your father struck up a rather odd friendship. They spent hours talking about their children to each other. My mother raved about me, and unbelievably, your father raved about you, and he doesn't even know the real you, and yet, he seems to love you as you are. Just think how proud he would be of you if he knew all of your accomplishments. Don't judge the man too harshly. That's my lesson for today."

"I try hard to remember that he loves me, but sometimes, it's hard to forget the past and how miserable Monica made me feel, and right under his nose," she said.

Draco said, "My mother told me that one of her biggest regrets in her life was what happened to you and others in our home during the war, but what could she do? She couldn't go against my father. She said she was sorry that she instilled hate in me at such a young age. She made me promise her I would make amends for our past wrongs, and so, for my part, I suppose, this is my amends."

"So you're being friendly with me to clear your conscience?" she asked.

"No, I'm being friendly with you because I want to be friendly. I only ever do things I want. Anyway, it's nice to be nice to you. I don't know why. You know, Granger, life is hard enough, with friends, but it's impossible without them." He suddenly seemed embarrassed. She reached over and put her hand on his thigh, which surprised him, but it left his thigh quickly as she put her other hand on the top of the wall, and jumped down. He jumped down as well.

"It's nice for someone to know the real me, and not have to hide or pretend, so no matter what the reason is for this sudden turn of events, I'm glad you have been friendly with me, Malfoy," she said seriously.

"Now that we're friends," he began, "please, answer my previous question. Why did you come here? It can't be good for someone who's as fragile as you seem to be, to be around such negativity." He wanted to touch her, in a reassuring way, but he kept his hands to himself, at least for now.

"I really had nowhere else to go. Isn't that pathetic? Moreover, I didn't want to be alone, for I'm so tired of being alone. I cannot even sleep alone. Ever since my stillbirth, I have had Ginny, Ron or Harry spend the night with me. Thanks to the fact that you fell asleep on my bed last night, I didn't have to be alone last night. I cannot face being alone, especially at night. I don't know what I will do tonight."

"But yet, don't you feel alone and isolated here with these people?" he asked.

"I may feel lonely, but at least I know I'm not alone," she pointed out.

"Would you like me to spend the night tonight?" he said it with such sincerity.

Did she?


	6. Friends Overnight, Overnight Friends

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 6: Friends Overnight, Overnight Friends:****  
**  
Why would he offer to spend the night? Did she want him to spend the night? She did and yet she did not. What exactly was he proposing? She certainly was not ready for an intimate relationship, but as far as companionship, friendship, comfort and support went, well, she could readily use those.

If she said yes, would that be unfair? Would she be using him?

It took her so long to answer that he finally cleared his throat. She looked up at him and he said, "It's a yes or no answer, Granger. You know what those two words mean, I take it. I am not asking you to debate the issue, just tell me yes or no. I mean to offer you my company, and nothing else. Truth be told, I don't sleep well at night, so it's no hardship to me."

"Why don't you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes or no, Granger?" he prodded.

"Do you have bad dreams?" she asked. She knew she did.

"Honestly, yes or no?" he reiterated.

"Sometimes trouble sleeping signifies a deeper, underling cause. You should see a doctor," she continued.

"YES OR NO?" he almost shouted.

"If I say yes, let's not ask any questions of each other. No revealing secrets, okay?" she stated.

"I'll reveal my secrets to you when I am good and ready, and I will draw yours out when I want, so, is that a yes?" he said, looking suddenly bored.

She started walking up the path, toward the house, and she turned around and said, "Aren't you coming?"

They both apparated to her bedroom. He sat on the bed and removed his tie and jacket. He said, "I've wanted to do that all night." He kicked off his shoes and pushed them under the bed. He removed his socks and threw them on his heap of clothing on the floor.

Hermione looked apprehensive. He was certainly getting comfortable. He began to unbutton his shirt. "How much more are you removing?" she asked. He only had on his slacks. She tried not to look at his bare chest, but she couldn't help it.

"I'm not sleeping in my clothes, Granger," he said, "And before you say anything else, this is a one time offer of a sleep aid, so don't ask me again." He sat down in the middle of the bed.

She looked affronted and said, "I didn't actually ask you this time. You offered. No, you begged, and coerced me."

"Coerced? Look that word up in your dictionary. I didn't coerce you, I might have strongly persuaded, maybe," he said.

She went over to a bookshelf and picked up a dictionary. "Are you kidding me?" he exclaimed. He scooted off the bed. She looked up the word 'Coerced' in the dictionary, as he looked over her shoulder.

Hermione read, "Coerced: To force someone to do something he or she does not want to do. Coerced." She smiled, thinking her argument was won, as he sat back on the bed.

"See, I didn't coerce you," he said, smugly. He also thought he won his argument. "Tell me, Hermione, why don't you like to be alone at night?"

"I just get scared sometimes. I mean, there's another reason, but as you said, when you reveal you secrets to me, I'll reveal mine to you." She sat down on a chair and removed her shoes.

"I still need my payment," he said. He pointed to the painting, which she had placed near the chair she was sitting.

"Payment?" she asked, removing her bracelet and earrings.

"How easily you forget," he said. He picked up the painting he gave her and with his wand, he attached it to the wall over her bed. "You need to sit for me, so I can paint you," he reminded.

She stood up and said, "Unzip my dress." This shocked him, but he hid it well. He put his left hand on her shoulder, for no real reason, and his right hand drew the zipper down. He saw a glimpse of her bra. He smiled, because it was absurd that something like that should make him happy. He was not twelve.

He leaned his chin on her shoulder and said, "We don't have to do the sitting now, so no reason to for nudity."

"But, I do need to get on my nightgown," she replied. She moved to the bathroom, and came out a moment later in a white, calf-length, sleeveless, gown, which was beyond modest, it was almost virginal, and a hairbrush in her hand. She began brushing her hair and she said, "Let me get this straight, you want to do my portrait, right? So, I could be your Mona Lisa?"

He sat back on the bed and said, "Or my girl with the pearl earring."

She sat on the bed beside him and said, "How about you paint me blurry, and we can say it was done by Monet?"

"I could paint you with three eyes and your nose over there," he touched her cheek, "and we could say it was done by Picasso."

She laughed and said, "Or, since my father is under the false impression that I know ballet, paint me as a ballerina, like Degas."

Now Draco laughed. He liked the ease they had with each other. "I could paint you with a small child, and say it was done by Mary Cassatt." She stopped smiling. He realized he should not have mentioned children.

He was about to cover his blunder, when she added, "Paint me on a ceiling and say I was painted by Michelangelo." She still looked sad. She put her hairbrush down on her nightstand.

He leaned over her, and picked up a snow globe, next to where she had just placed her brush. "Hey, Hermione, what's this?" he asked, shaking it up, and watching the sparkles float through the water.

"I almost forgot about that," she said, taking it lithely from his hands. She shook it as well. "My dad gave that to me one year, and told me to take it home to London, and when I missed him, I could take it out and shake it up and think of him. He had it special made for me. I have never been here during winter, so this gave me a glimpse of the farm during winter. I bring it with me every time I come, and take it back home when I leave. See, there are their house, and their barn." She shook it one last time. He took it from her hand.

"Why did you say, 'their house and their barn'?" he asked.

She shrugged. He turned it over and saw that it played music. "May I?" he asked. She nodded. He turned the little silver crank three times. It played a familiar song. He said, "Where have I heard that song before?"

"Last night on the porch," she said. He remembered. It was the song she sang on the porch, the lullaby.

He said, "I thought you said your mother taught you that song?"

"She did. I told you, he had it special made," she said with a hint of melancholy.

Her dad had somehow known that her mother sang her that song. He wondered if her father loved her mother. He leaned forward, across her legs, to put it back on the nightstand, but it slipped from his fingers, and crashed to the floor. He was shocked and mortified. He jumped off the bed and said, "Oh, Hermione, I am so sorry. I can fix it."

She climbed off the bed and said, "It doesn't matter." She looked at the pieces and bent down to pick them up.

He took them from her and said, "Let me fix it." He took his wand and fixed it. He turned the crank on the bottom, but it would no longer play.

"Well, it still looks pretty," she said, shaking it once more. "I'll fix the music sometime, don't worry." She put it back on the nightstand and sat down on the floor, in front of the wardrobe. He came and sat beside her. He could not help himself; he reached over for her hand. She let him take it.

"Tell me about your mum," he asked.

"She was young when she had me, only nineteen. My dad was ten years old than she, and he meet her while she was working at a resort during her summer holidays. It was not a one-night fling; it was a whole summer romance. He never told her he was married, which I suppose I can understand, because he wasn't happy at the time. He probably isn't happy now. Anyway, I was the result of their romance."

"My mum was tall, blonde, blue eyed, so you see, I take after my dad. When I was only three, she became very ill with Leukemia. She decided to tell my dad about me, in case something happened to her. She died when I was seven. But, as you know, I never came to live with my dad, but my mum and I lived with my grandparents from the time I was born anyway, so really, it made more sense for them to raise me."

Draco wasn't so sure she sounded convinced. She took her hand from his and walked over to the bed. She lay down, and he came and sat beside her body, on the other side of the bed. She continued, "I wanted him to raise me, deep down. If only Monica could have stopped hating me for one moment, and lay the blame where it belonged, on my father, not on me, we might have been a real family. I mean, I loved my grandparents more than anything, but sometimes I wish things had been different. I wish for a great many things, really."

Draco lay beside her and said, "I wish for poems that the rain and wind composes, I wish for my nightmares and daydreams to cease, I wish for true love that has never imposed me, I wish for my dreams of a home life with peace."

She whispered, "What? What was that from?"

"From you," he whispered back.

"How do you know that?" she asked again, shocked.

"Once in school," Draco began, "during sixth year, I saw a piece of parchment fall out of one of your books, as you were leaving the library. I picked it up, and that was written on it."

"I almost forgot about that. How did you remember?" she asked.

"Those simple words on a piece of parchment helped me during some tough times that year," he admitted.

"The year you were made to join the Death Eaters and you were given the task to kill the headmaster," she said. She was not asking a question, she was stating a fact. He merely nodded.

He reached over her once again, pressing her up against the mattress. He turned out the light that was on the bedside table next to her, and said, "Goodnight, Granger." He fell against the pillow, his left arm under his head. His right arm was straight on the bed, palm side down. She reached over in the dark, and touched her fingertips lightly over the top of his hand. She withdrew her hand suddenly, just as he was starting to feel his own brand of comfort.

She lay back on the pillow, so they were lying next to each other and she said, "I'm sure you had a lot of wishes that year."

"Hell, Granger," he said. "I had a lot of wishes every year."

They stayed silent for a long time, before he said, "I don't usually sleep on the left side of the bed."

"Oh, I can trade you. I always slept on the right side, but when I married, so did Roger, so I traded, so now, I can sleep on either. Let's trade." She climbed over him and he was startled. He had no choice but to move to the right side.

"I don't usually sleep on the right side of the bed, either," he said finally.

She propped up on her elbow and said, "What do you usually do, hang from the ceiling like a bat?"

"No, I'm used to a big bed, all to myself, and I always sleep right smack dab in the middle," he proclaimed.

"That's impossible in this bed, it's a full size, and since there are two of us, you have to pick a side," she reasoned.

He scooted over to the middle, practically pushing her off. "No, I like the middle," he said. She was reduced to a slim part of the bed, and she was barely hanging on to the edge.

"No way, Malfoy. I'll be on the floor next," she said. He liked her like this, confrontation and strong. More like the 'Hermione', he remembered.

"If you're on the floor, you won't need your pillow," he responded flippantly. He took the pillow right from under her head, and put it on top of his pillow.

"MALFOY!" she screeched. She started pushing him with her knees and hands, back over to the right side of the bed. She took her pillow back, pulled up the sheet, and lay back down.

He stood up for a moment, and she could tell he was removing his slacks, and he only had on a pair of black boxers. "That's enough," she remarked.

"Keep your eyes to yourself," he said. He joined her under the sheet. "So, Hermione, please tell me, why is it you're so quiet and demur around these people? I don't remember you that way at all," Draco said.

Hermione reached over and turned off the lamp on the left side of the bed, leaving just the glow from the moonlight in the room. She turned to her back and said, "It's like I am a different person when I'm here. It's as if I am a child again, and all my old insecurities come out. In school, I was still an insecure person, but I always had my friends, and that made me stronger. I don't have anyone here."

"Why did you divorce?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"I think it will help me understand," he said truthfully.

She took a deep breath. "I was unfaithful."

He was quiet for a long time. "I don't believe that," he finally said.

"Not in the physical sense, but I was still unfaithful, all the same. Harry called it 'emotionally unfaithful'. I think that describes it perfectly," she revealed. "I had started a relationship with another man, like I said, not in the physical sense, but emotionally. My husband had not been there for me emotionally for a long time."

"Who was this 'other' man?" Draco asked.

"You wouldn't know him," she said. "I didn't even really know him. It was nothing more than letters back and forth. I received a letter from him, and apparently, he was a former Death Eater, and he was writing everyone whom he had wronged in the war. Mine was just one of many letters he had written, but he seemed sad and lonely, and I was sad and lonely, so I wrote him back. I told him everything about myself. I even told him I was married. I never told him I was pregnant, though," she admitted.

'Why not?" he asked, curious. He sat back up.

"I'm not sure. I got pregnant for all the wrong reasons. Roger wanted children, I wasn't ready, but our marriage was so wrong, it was heading the wrong direction, and I was no longer happy, and neither was he, and we both assumed children would help, which in hindsight, was stupid for us to think. That doesn't mean I didn't want my child," she pointed out.

"You still haven't told me why you divorced, though. I mean, you had a pen pal, so what?" he asked.

"I've said too much, really. I'm not prepared to tell you more. Tell me something about Draco Malfoy that I don't know. Some deep dark secret, or something out of character, like the fact that you paint. Tell me anything," she said.

"You're trying to change the subject, because you know I love to talk about myself," he pointed out. "However, I shall answer your request. Let me think, something you don't know about me." He took a few moments, looked up at the ceiling, and then said, "I love to dress in women's clothing."

Hermione started to giggle and hit his arm. "You probably make a pretty woman," she said.

"You think I'm lying, don't you?" he asked seriously.

"I hope you are," she said. "Fine, don't share any of your secrets with me."

"Okay, one secret for you, since you gave me a small tidbit about your marriage. I was going to run off with this woman, whom I thought I loved, but at the last moment, I got cold feet, and I never showed up, I left her high and dry," he admitted.

"Why?" she asked.

"I was scared of commitment," he answered.

"Did you love her?" she asked.

"Very much so," he said back.

"Did you ever explain to her why you didn't meet her?" she asked.

"I tried to. I sent her letter after letter, but she never wrote me back," he said. "I had made up my mind to go see her in person, explain everything, but she was gone."

"I don't blame her. I can't say I blame you either, but still." She didn't know what else to say. "We are a couple of louses, are we?"

"No, we are humans, and we make mistakes," he said. He yawned.

"Is it past Draco's bedtime?" she laughed.

"I believe it is," he said. He shut his eyes. She looked at him in the moonlight. She reached over and touched his face again.

"Goodnight, Draco."

Hermione turned on her side, and tucked the sheet around her middle. She continued to watch him. He turned his head and opened his eyes. "Yes?" he asked her.

"You didn't tell me goodnight," she said.

"I said it earlier," he said. He shut his eyes again. She turned to her other side, facing away from him. He felt the shift in the mattress, and turned his head once more and opened his eyes again. He looked at the back of her head and her back. He looked down her body, and saw how the sheet pooled at her waist. His eyes followed the sway of her hip, down her sheet-covered legs, and back up to her bare arm and shoulder. He thought she was beautiful, even from behind. He touched her shoulder. She turned her head toward him.

"Yes, Draco?" she asked.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She turned back away from him, and smiled to herself. He remained facing her, and he smiled as well. He stayed awake much longer than she did. He heard her soft even breathing, denoting sleep. She shifted once, then twice, until she was once again facing him. He reached over, stroked her face, and then pulled her body into his. Once he had her in his arms, he fell asleep.


	7. Contemplations and Spark Plugs

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 7 – Contemplations and Spark Plugs: ****  
**  
He awoke while the room was still dark. Her head was on his chest and her left arm across his stomach. He untangled himself from her arms. If he had not had to visit the bathroom, he would have stayed put. He would stay like this forever if he could.

After the necessities of existence were taken care of, he came back in the room. She was now on the right side of the bed. He smiled and walked up to her. He looked down on her, and he knew that she really had no idea that he was the same person from the letters, that he was the Death Eater who had written to her. He walked over to the other side of the bed, and lay back down. He was warm so he left the sheet off his body. He crossed his legs at the ankles and looked back over at her.

She said she was having an 'emotion affair'. She didn't say she loved him; just that he filled her needs emotionally. She did not say that was the reason for her divorce. Really, she didn't tell Draco anything that he had not already known, except for one thing: he was shocked to find out she was pregnant, that much was true.

He lied to her when he said that he was meeting a woman and that he got cold feet and didn't show up. The truth was, they had arranged to meet, and she was the one that didn't show. Draco felt that was proof that she didn't love him, but of course, who falls in love exchanging letters.

He did.

He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. He wrote the letter to her at his mother's request. When she was dying, she told Draco to make amends to everyone he had wronged, so that when he died someday, he could die with a clear conscience, with no regrets. She told him if she could do the same, she would.

He waited many months after she died before he finally wrote his letter. He wasn't sure why he started with Granger. He had many people from whom he needed to seek forgiveness. Perhaps it was because of her father, and the fact he was so kind to Draco's mother. Perhaps it was because he felt she was vulnerable. The last time he had seen her, at a Ministry dinner, she had seemed sad. Moreover, perhaps it was because he was depressed and lonely, and he just needed a friend, and he knew she would be the most amenable.

He never signed his name, he never went into specifics about his biography, all he did was pour out his heart, told her his fears, and begged for forgiveness. He didn't send the letter for a few weeks. Finally, he re-read the letter, and sent it. He never thought she would reply, not in a hundred years, but she did. When he read her letter, he thought she sounded as sad as he was. He wrote her again, and thus, their tentative friendship began.

It was probably around the fourteenth letter that he thought he might love her. He wanted to reveal to her who he was so much. The thing was it was easier for him to write to her, without talking about personal things, although she poured out her heart to him, and he to her. Still, she held back a lot as well. For instance, he knew nothing about her painful past until the last couple of days, and he sure as hell didn't know she had a stillborn baby.

When they had finally arranged to meet, and she didn't show up, he decided to try to forget about her. He could not. He sent her another letter, and she never responded. He sent her two more, and she still did not respond, so he cut his losses, and went on with his life. Draco now wondered if that was around the time of her miscarriage. When he came back here, he had no clue that she was about to return. He came here to forget her, but in the end, he never forgot her. That day of the fire at the Dairy, her father stopped by his house and asked him to pick her up at the station for him, because he had to go help the injured.

Draco didn't think there would be any harm picking her up, he had gotten over his feelings for her, and she still didn't have a clue that he had been the one behind the letters. He waited at the station forever, and when she never arrived, his mind wandered back to the day that he waited for her after they arranged to meet in their letters, and she never arrived. He ended up driving around, cursing her to the heavens, when he finally saw her as he crossed a bridge.

She was sitting on the railing, and he stopped at the end of the bridge. With each step she took closer to his car, the more his confidence at seeing her again waned, and he finally drove off just as she reached the car. He lacked her Gryffindor courage.

He drove to the village, and saw her enter the little store. He waited for her again, did not drive off this time, but when she saw him, she wouldn't get in the car. Of course, she had no idea he was the one who had corresponded with her all those months ago. When she finally accepted his ride, the third time he tried, he found all the anger he had held for her for rejecting him subside, and he knew he still cared for her.

He knew she was still in pain.

He knew she was in more pain than she was before.

The truth was that he more than cared for her; he still loved her, even if she didn't love him.

He knew her pain was greater than his pain, so he had to be the bigger person and help her. After all, she had helped him recover from his pain, by accepting his apology when he first wrote to her. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he was helping her, too.

He turned back to his side and looked at her again. She looked so peaceful when she slept. Why was she afraid to sleep alone? Not that it mattered; he would be there for her if she needed him. He wouldn't tell her who he really was. She didn't need to know. He decided he would forgive her for not meeting him that day. He would be her friend, because she seemed as if she really needed a friend.

She started to stir, so he shut his eyes. On a whim, he put his arm back across her. She must have opened her eyes, because he could tell she was looking at him. He felt a bit more daring, and he pulled her over on his chest. He thought she would quickly push away from him, hit his chest, and yell, 'wake up!', but all she did was lay her head back on his chest. He felt wetness on his chest. She was quietly crying. He heard no tears, but he felt them. Now he felt bad, imposing on her when she thought he was asleep. She continued to cry, tears soaking his chest, as he fabricated sleep. Why was she crying? She finally gently disentangled her arms from around him, and she sat up. She silently walked to the bathroom. When she came back, she sat in the chair in the corner.

He sat up and turned on the light.

"What time is it?" he asked. He really had no clue.

She looked at the clock on her desk and said, "It's early, only a bit after 6:00 o'clock. You should go back to sleep."

"So should you," he said.

"I don't think I can," she said sullenly.

"Come and try," he urged. He moved back over to the right side of the bed, and she slowly walked back over to the left. She faltered for a moment, and then slipped under the sheet.

"When I woke up, we had switched sides somehow, and I don't know how that happened," she said, smiling at him.

"Strange," he commented.

"I don't know if I can face this day," she suddenly said, her hands over her face.

"What is this day?" he asked.

"The day before the big party. I just want to run away, or throw up. I'm not sure which. I could just not go. I'm sure they wouldn't notice. Of course, I'm supposed to go in town and buy a dress, as if I could find a dress that would suit Monica in town," she concluded.

"Tell you what, Granger," he said, facing her, "you and I will apparate to London, buy you a pretty little frock, and then spend the rest of the day at my house here. Maybe we could get started on that painting."

"Tempting offer, but I don't know," she said.

"Come on, you know you want to, and it's not as if they'll miss you around here. You aren't needed to help with anything, are you?" he asked.

She grinned and said, "Believe me, my help would be neither accepted nor wanted."

"Great, then you come to my house after breakfast, and we'll plan our day," he said, "but for now, let's get some more sleep." He really did feel tired again. He shut his eyes, this time, no longer pretending, and he fell back to sleep. She was the one watching and pondering now.

She didn't understand why she felt so comfortable with him. It was as if they were old friends, when nothing could be further from the truth. She didn't want to get too close to him. She couldn't bear to lose another person she loved. She thought back to the day she was supposed to meet her friend from the letters. She had wavered back and forth on whether or not to meet him, when she finally decided she had to meet him. Then, her world turned upside down, and nothing was the same, and she had to live with that regret forever.

Of course, if she had met her friend that day, she might not be here now, in bed with Draco. How odd that sounded. She smiled internally when she thought of what Ron and Harry would think. Perhaps she should write them and say, "Hey chaps, I slept with Draco the last two nights. In fact, I'm in bed with him right now." They would have a fit. It might be somewhat funny, though.

Hermione stood up and went to shower. Once again, when she came back out to her room, he was gone. She went down to the breakfast room. The family always had breakfast in the dining room, so she knew she would have this room to herself. One of the maids walked past and offered to get her some breakfast. Hermione thanked her. She started to tuck in, when Michael passed. He came and joined her.

"That looks good," he said, stealing a piece of her toast. "So, do you still need me to drive you into town to get a pretty, new little dress for the party?"

"Did you mother remind you of that, Mike?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, for your fashion emergency is more important than the running of this farm," he joked.

"Draco Malfoy is going to take me," she said.

"Ho, ho, aren't you two getting cozy," he laughed.

"It's nothing like that," she said quietly.

"I'm joking, Hermione. I know you aren't ready for anything yet." He put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Have a nice time. Buy a pretty dress. I love you, Hermione, I really do, more than you know." He bent down and kissed the top of her head.

After she ate, she snuck past the dining room, where her father and Monica were still talking, and she walked upstairs to grab her purse. She made sure she had her wand, and then she apparated to Draco's front door.

She arrived at Draco's house and knocked on the door. He didn't answer. She waited for a while, knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she walked around to the side of the massive house. Along the back was a large four car garage, and one of the doors was opened. She looked in the door and saw Draco under the hood of the same black car that he used to pick her up from the station. She walked up to him and leaned over the hood, her hand next to his on the fender, and she said, "Problems?"

He straightened up and said, "No, not really problems, but the bloody car won't start, and being a Wizard, I can't fix the stupid thing the traditional way, and I've already tried to fix it with magic."

"Well, I don't know much about vehicles either, but aren't we apparating to London?" she asked.

"No, we are driving," he said, peering back under the hood.

"That's a pretty far drive, over 300 kilometers. That would take us at least four hours, on these roads," she guessed.

He poked his head out from under the hood of the car long enough to say, "We aren't going to London." His head disappeared again.

"When did our plans change?" She frowned. "I'm pretty sure I won't find an outfit to appease Monica at the one little department store in town." She leaned over the car again, to look at the engine with him. "What are we looking at, anyway?" she asked.

"Hell if I know," he said. "I always see Muggles doing this when they fix their cars."

"Well, I'm pretty sure they don't just stare at the engine, they probably do something else," she said. He stood back up and put his hand on her arm. He moved her away from the car and slammed the hood shut. He turned to face her.

He said, "Now, about your many inquires, first, we aren't going to London. Of course, you won't find an appropriate dress at Longfellow and Sons, and we aren't apparating anywhere." He got back in the car and tried the engine. Nothing happened at all. He slammed his fist on the dashboard, got back out of the car, slammed the door, and shouted a string of curse words, two that Hermione had never even heard before.

"I'm confused," she said.

"So am I," he uttered. He opened the hood again.

"Not about the car, about our plans today. I'm confused about our plans," she clarified.

He looked at her closely, and said, "You look confused." He looked back under the hood. She leaned over with him once again, this time her shoulder touching his.

She pointed to a spark plug and said, "Is that supposed to be attached to something? Because, I'm pretty sure it is."

He reattached the plug, got back in the car, and it started. He climbed back out, and gave her a big hug, and to her amazement, a kiss on the cheek. "You aren't just smart, are you? You're a genius!" He let her go, closed the hood and flung her door open. He walked over to the driver's side and said, "We don't have all day, get in the car."

She stood there shocked, with her heart rate elevated from his display of affection. She leaned in the passenger side, and said, "Are you kidnapping me again?"

"Get in and find out."

She got in and shut the door.

He said, "Will I get a handsome ransom if I kidnap you?"

"I doubt it, but Monica might pay you if you keep me," she said as she laughed.

"Hmmm," he hummed. He would if he could. "Though I won't get a ransom, I will still force you to come."

He drove out of the garage and she said, "Please, tell me where we're heading."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the radio," he shouted.

She actually shook her head, and said, "The radio's not even on."

He turned the radio on, loudly, and repeated, "Sorry, I can't hear you over the radio."

She turned the radio off and said, "Are you mad? Why won't you tell me where we're going?"

Draco smiled and said, "Trust me. Live your life for once, don't plan it. Throw away your date books and calendars. Stop wearing a watch. Forget the day and the date. Throw away your agendas and timelines. Have some fun, and some faith, and you might like it."

"What a speech," she said quietly. "I'm not easily distracted these days, so I'm sorry if I'm preoccupied with things like dates, and days of the week. I really want to know where we're going."

"Live with disappointment," he remarked, turning onto the main road.

"That's easy enough, I've lived with disappointment most of my life," she stated.

"Poor, poor pitiful you. Tell, you what, Granger, you answer one question for me, and I'll answer one for you, like a little game," he said.

"Fine, ask me anything, well, not anything, but ask me something, which I reserve the right not to answer," she said.

"Why did you marry Davies?" he asked.

"I loved him, and I wanted to be married," she said. "Actually, put that the other way. I wanted to be married and I love him."

"Is there a difference?" he asked.

"Sorry, that's two questions. My turn, where are we going?" she asked.

"To a little hamlet 50 kilometers away. They have a wonderful boutique there, and you will find the perfect outfit. See how easy this is?" he asked. "That wasn't your question, by the way. Next question, you said you had an emotional relationship with another man, did you love him?"

"That's personal," she said. She thought for a moment. It wouldn't hurt to tell him the truth. "Yes, I did. My turn, what are we doing after we get my dress?"

"There's a resort there, and I booked us a room," he said.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"For facials, massages, manicures, pedicures, etc. Get your mind out of the gutter. Now, my turn, did your divorce have anything to do with this man?"

"Yes and no," she said.

"That's not fair," he said, turning to her. He turned his eyes back to the road. "You must answer."

"It's not that simple. It's honestly yes and no, and without getting into an explanation, that's the best I can do for you," she reasoned.

"Fine, that one doesn't count then. My new question is this, would you have left your husband for this man?" he asked.

"I had planned to. I didn't even know his name, yet, we had planned to meet, run off together, kind of like you and your woman friend," she said.

"And you stood him up like I stood up my woman friend, I bet," he said. He really wanted to hear her finally say it. He had forgiven her, but he needed to hear her admit it.

"No, I didn't. I don't fault you for leaving your woman friend. If you didn't feel it was right, you did the right thing by not meeting her. I however, had planned to meet my friend. I actually went to meet him," she said.

Draco suddenly swerved off the road. Hermione was flung forward so fast that she had to put her hands out to steady herself. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, what happened?" she asked.

He wanted to say that he was shocked, because he knew that she did not meet him, because he waited hours for her, but why would she lie? She had no reason to lie to him. She didn't seem as if she was lying. She sounded truthful. He said, "I'm sorry, there was a chipmunk on the road. You didn't want me to hit a chipmunk did you?"

"Well, no," she said. "By the way, that counts as you next question. My turn."

"Ask me one more question, Granger, then that's enough for today," he said. He pulled back out on the road.

"Do you still love the woman you left?" she asked.

"Yes, why?" he asked. He dare not look at her, less he reveal the truth.

"I just needed to know." She turned and looked out the window. He was still in love with someone. She didn't know why that made her sad, but it made a difference to her, it really did.

"Okay, I get to ask one more, since you did," he said. "If you went to meet your friend, why aren't you with him now?"

"I thought you were going to ask me if I was still in love with him," she said.

"Answer either one," he said. He needed to know the answer to both, but one day at a time, he reminded himself.

She didn't want to answer either. She thought she might be falling in love with Draco, but that was silly, for they had just become reacquainted. What should she say?


	8. Rug Burn

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 8 – Rug Burn:**

Hermione took a ragged breath in, held it a moment, and exhaled through her mouth. She didn't have to answer. There was no law saying she had to answer. She didn't know if she still loved her friend, because after all, if she truly still loved him, would she have feelings like this for Draco? She knew she had feelings for him, no matter how small. Instead, she decided to answer his first question, when he asked why she wasn't with her friend since she was no longer married.

"I'm not with my friend because of fate."

He slammed on the brakes again. This time she banged her forehead on the dashboard.

"Merlin, Granger, I am so sorry!" He put his hand over hers, which was holding her forehead. She had tears in her eyes. She threw off her seatbelt, the bloody thing didn't work well anyway, and she stepped out of the car. He threw off his seatbelt as well, and ran over to her side of the car.

"Are you trying to kill me?" she yelled.

He pulled her hands away from her face and examined the red bump on her forehead. His fingers went lightly over her wound, and then he did something quite unexpected, by them both. He held her. He pulled her into his arms again, and held her. She felt connected to him, in a strangest way. It felt so good to be held by him. What was wrong with her? Why was she falling so fast for him? Why did she suddenly have numbness in all her extremities, and a dry throat? Why was her heart fluttering? Why did she feel tingling deep down inside? Why had she never felt all of these things before?

She pushed away from him and with her right hand back on her forehead, she said, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Was there another chipmunk? Because I have to tell you, run the damn things over next time."

"What did you mean, by fate?" he asked.

"What does that have to do with the bump on my head?" she asked.

"Please, answer me," he pleaded. He walked closer to her, but she put up her hand, as if to say, back off. He understood and took a step back.

"I just mean it was providence that we're not together. Listen, I didn't mean anything, forget I said that. You don't need to know everything about me," she concluded. She cursed softly under her breath, and opened her door and sat back down in the car.

He wanted to shout, 'I do need to know! If anyone needs to know, it's me!' He clenched his fists, but decided not to pursue it right now. He walked back over to his side, and opened the door. He sat down. She was crying again, and he was sure it wasn't due to her head.

"Listen, Granger, you're right, it's not my concern. Let's have a nice day, and not think on these things any longer. If you ever want to talk to me, though, and tell me what you meant by that, I'm more than willing to listen." He started the car. She reached over and touched his hand. He turned toward her.

"I just meant, we weren't meant to be together. I wanted to be with him, and I went to meet him, but fate had other plans, and my selfishness cost me a great deal, and I really can't talk about it anymore. This day isn't turning out right, I need to go back to the farm," she said.

"I won't let you wallow in despair any longer. You're coming with me to buy a pretty dress, and then it's time for some pampering. Remember, I'm kidnapping you, and you have no say when a man kidnaps you. You must do as I say," he said lightly. He was going to make sure she had a nice day, even if he was dying inside. He drove back out on the road. If she really wanted to leave, he could do nothing to stop her, but if she stayed, he would do nothing to make her want to leave.

They arrived at the small town, which revealed a resort community. The whole village had an old world charm to it, cobbled stone streets, and stone and brick buildings with thatched roofs. There were people milling all around. Hermione immediately recognized the village as a Wizarding Community. "You never told me this was a magical community," she said to Draco as they pulled up to the spa and resort. "To think, I spent summers so close to here, and I never knew it existed."

"Well, it's exclusive. You must have a membership to come to this resort. Yes, to Muggles it appears as a run down abandoned town. Do you really think my parents would spend holidays at The Green Elms without a touchstone of some type? They would never have been satisfied living in the Muggle village if they didn't have this place to visit," he explained.

He stopped the car in front of the doors of the resort, and a valet came out to open his door. Draco walked around and opened Hermione's door. He took her hand, a gentleman to a fault, and helped her out of the car. He kept her hand while they walked in the building.

She felt warm all over. Her hand in his felt comfortable. She felt her stomach flipping over, with the feelings of butterflies. Her instincts told her to remove her hand from his, but as if he read her mind, he laced his fingers in hers, holding her hand tighter than before. He talked to the desk clerk, and Hermione looked around in awe at the beautiful resort.

"Granger?" Draco said, calling her attention back to him, "Shall we go get your dress, or check into our room first?"

"Dress, please," she said. She was smiling. She had almost forgotten about her woes, about his earlier questions, and about her head injury.

"Shall we walk?" he asked. He already led her outside, so apparently it was not a question that needed answered. They passed by two young men, one who whistled at Hermione. "Hey Granger, you still have it apparently, that young man whistled at you."

"He could have been whistling at you," she smiled back.

"True, I am a pretty specimen, if I do say so, myself. You're right, he was probably whistling at me," he said.

They reached the door to the boutique, Draco opened the door with his right hand, and Hermione lowered her head to walk in under his arm. He brought his right arm down, so that she was trapped. His other hand went up to her shoulder, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I would whistle at you, however, if it was me."

She turned to look at him, and his face was so close to hers. She didn't have a clue what to say to him. He never gave her a chance; he removed his right hand from the door and with his left hand on her back, he ushered her in the shop.

"So, what colour do you like, Granger?" he asked, fingering the different dresses on the racks.

"I don't know really, it's not so much about the colour, but the style and cut. It has to be pretty, but modest, and I cannot outshine Monica."

Draco laughed, "Too, late." He picked up a sexy red dress and said, "This one?"

"Ha! We aren't going to a bordello," Hermione said. He shrugged and put it back on the rack. She picked out a couple of dresses, all boring in Draco's opinion, and went to try them on in the dressing room.

Draco was already bored to tears. He sat in the corner, and when she came out in a lilac summer dress, which shimmered and glowed, short hem, tight fitted bodice, with thin straps holding the dress up on her shoulders, he said, "My goodness, you are a vision."

"A vision of what?" She frowned at her reflection. "I don't know Draco, this dress is pretty garish, don't you think?"

"No, and you must not think it either, since you picked it out. Get it, and turn all the men's heads." He jumped up from the seat and said, "I hate shopping, are you finished?"

"We've been here for twenty minutes," she complained.

"Bye, Hermione," he said, heading toward the door. "I'm leaving you if you don't get that dress." She went back to the dressing room, took off the pretty, lilac dress, and took it up to the counter to pay for it.

He took her bag from her and said, "We have a few hours until our massages, how about some lunch?"

"When did you become so nice?" she asked.

"I have always been nice, deep inside. My greatest fear was showing other people how nice I could be," he admitted, although he had a wiry smile, to denote that he was joking. He took her over to a small outdoor plaza, and they sat at a table. They ordered coffee and food, and she started looking around.

"You seem nervous," he said.

"I am apprehensive, about tomorrow. I don't know how I'm going to get through the day," she admitted. "I'll be around all their friends, and Monica's family, and even some of my family, cousins, and the like. I don't know, it's just, I don't know what's expected of me. I shouldn't have come this week. I should have waited."

"Why did you come this week, if you didn't want to go to their little garden party," he asked, taking a bite of food.

"I had no choice. I was slowly suffocating. I had been staying at Harry's house. I was smothering them, and they were smothering me. My divorce became final, the day before I left. I wasn't even planning on leaving, but I wrote Harry a note, telling him I couldn't stay there any longer, and I wrote my dad and told him, not asked, but told him, I was coming." She stopped talking for a while, and put her hands on her lap. She leaned forward, looked right at him, and said, "I almost think I wanted this to be difficult. I wanted to be given a hard time. I wanted to feel again, even if the feelings I had were complicated ones. I know that doesn't make much sense."

"It makes sense," he validated. "I've done things similar to this. When my mother died, she made me promise her I would do some things that were difficult, but they were not impossible, just difficult. I survived."

"What type of things?" she asked, popping some bread in her mouth.

He wanted to tell her. He should give her a hint. "She thought I would sleep better if I apologized to some people whom I had wronged. She was wrong, I still don't sleep well."

"How did you apologize? I'd like to do that. I feel like I've lost my courage, and it's been replaced with humility," she said. "Really, how did you do it?"

"I didn't say I did, I said she made me promise her I would," he said. He had only ever written to her, had only ever apologized to her, so in a way, he wasn't lying.

"I should apologize to some people, and maybe it'll make me feel whole again," she said softly.

"Who would you apologize to first?" he asked.

"My ex-husband. He didn't deserve what I did. He didn't deserve losing his baby, his wife, his marriage, all in one blow," she explained.

"Who else?" he asked.

"My baby. I should apologize for losing my baby. He might have had a wonderful life. He might have changed the world," she said. She looked on the verge of tears.

"It's not your fault you lost your baby," he said.

"Maybe it was," she retorted. She looked at her hands in her lap. He moved from the chair across from her, to sit next to her.

"Who else?" Please, say him.

"The man I became involved with. He deserved better than me," she said.

"Maybe that wasn't your choice to make. Maybe it was up to him who he deserved. You should have given him a chance. Just because you feel guilty that you didn't given him a chance, doesn't mean he would have been better off without you," he said.

"Why do you keep insisting that I didn't give him a chance, or that I left him? You don't know anything about it. Just because you feared commitment, doesn't mean I did," she said.

"I believe you did, and you still do. If you didn't fear commitment, you would still be married or at least be with your 'emotional boyfriend'," he said sarcastically.

"That's a low blow," she said back. She stood up. "And to think I thought you had become nice. You know, I don't know why you insist on thinking the worst of me."

He took her arm and pulled her back to her seat. "You've thought the worst of me all my life. Nevertheless, you know what, if you want me to think better of you, show me otherwise. You said it was your fault you divorced, and you also said 'fate' was the reason you aren't with this other man, so by your own admission, you're at fault." He stood up and walked away from her.

Why couldn't she just admit that she chickened out and didn't want to be with him? He really wanted to hear her say that. He didn't want an apology, but he wouldn't mind an explanation that made sense. Something better than 'fate'.

He went back to the resort. He asked if he could have his massage now, instead of when it was scheduled. He walked down to the spa, and decided to forget about her. He wanted to help her, but it was hard to help her if she couldn't be truthful, even to herself.

Hermione thought about apparating back to her dad's house, but decided to tell Draco goodbye first. She went up to their room, which was beautiful, but he wasn't there. She went down and asked at the front desk if they knew where Mr. Malfoy was. The clerk told her that Draco had decided to go to the spa for his massage. She asked if she could still receive hers in the room. Maybe a massage would help her relax and unwind. She was told they would send someone up right away.

She went straight to her room. She had never received a massage before. A young wizard named Tony came up to set up the table. He told her they would start when she was ready. She went into the bathroom, and came out in only a towel. She was slightly embarrassed. He reassured her, as she lay down on her belly on the massage table. She loosened her towel, and he pulled it down to her hips. She was slightly more embarrassed than she was on her wedding night, and she was a virgin on her wedding night.

"So, Tony, how long have you worked here?" she asked.

Hermione hadn't seen Draco enter the room. He put his finger up to his lips and mouthed to the young man, "Tell her not to talk."

"Miss Granger, I think you'll find this more relaxing if we don't speak," Tony said.

Draco nodded to the young man, slipped him some money, and pointed toward the door with his head. He understood and left the room. Draco had just received one of the best massages of his life, and now he was going to give her one. One she would never forget.

He put some warm oil on his hands. He started at her feet. He picked up her right foot, and started rubbing her heel and the ball of her foot with his thumbs. When he was done with her foot, he lifted her leg and worked his fingers up and down her calf. He did the same with her left foot and leg. He stopped mid thigh, where her towel was.

"Tony?" she said.

"Hmm?" Draco murmured.

"I've never had a massage before," she said.

Draco wondered why she felt the need to say that. He put his hands on her bare back. The feel of his hands on her bare skin immediately excited him. He had dreamt of this many times. He held her last night, in her bed no less, but that didn't compare to this. His hands went to her shoulders, rubbing hard, and then soft. His fingertips skimmed the sides of her breasts, then her ribs, then her waist, as he brought them slowly down her body. He brought his right hand lightly back up her spine, in the middle of her back, and then brushed it back down, ending at her dimpled backside. The towel draped lightly over her bum, and he pushed it slightly lower. He licked his dry lips.

He was in too deep to stop now. He rubbed some more oil on her back, and brought his hands down her right arm. He rubbed her hand and fingers, working out all the stress and rigidity. He started rubbing her back again, and he moved down the other arm. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and moved her hair aside with one hand. He put one hand lightly on her neck. He spread his hand out across the back of her neck. He brought the same hand down her back again. He could not help himself; he bent down and kissed her shoulder. Her breathing became more irregular.

"Hey, Tony, what was that?" she asked.

He started rubbing her legs again. His hands went up her leg, one hand on each side of her leg, on her thigh, farther than the towel allowed. His hands were still under the towel, when she asked, "Tony?"

"Shhh," he hushed. He walked over to the other side of the table, and again, his hands went to her long, wavy, brown tresses. He reached a hand in her hair, and slightly pulled. He brought his mouth down and kissed her bare neck.

"Oh goodness, stop that," she said, her head raised slightly, her eyes now opened. He pushed her head back down, rather roughly.

He leaned over her back, pressing his chest against her bare skin, his shirt wet from the oil, and kissed her earlobe.

"I mean it, stop it!" she said. She sat up, and pulled the towel around her so quickly, that he couldn't see a thing. She flew off the table and when she saw it was Draco, she started yelling, "Get the hell out of my room, Malfoy! How dare you! If I had my wand, your balls would be gone! I thought you were a pervert! Hell, you are a pervert!" She ran from the room and locked herself in the bathroom.

He started laughing and he said, "I thought you were going to let the bloody man consummate your relationship before you stopped him, or well, me."

She had a robe on now, and she opened the door. She stamped her foot like a child. She was without words, however, so she slammed the door again. What should she say to him?

"Hey, Granger, didn't you like my massage?" he asked. He was serious. He knocked on the door, "Granger, come out." He tried the door, which she had locked. He took his wand and simply unlocked the door. She was sitting on the bathroom rug, her feet crossed, her arms crossed, and her head toward the wall.

"Are you angry?" he asked.

"What did you think you were doing?" she asked him, yes, with anger.

"I was giving you a massage, I thought that was clear," he answered. He came and sat beside her.

"But, I mean, what were you doing? Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to," he said.

"Do you always get what you want?" she asked.

"Apparently not." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Gee, Granger, can't you just let go and have fun, for once?"

"That wasn't fun," she said.

"It was for me," he said, grinning.

She pushed his shoulder, hard, and said, "I'm going home." She tried to stand up, but he grabbed her hand. She said, "Let me go."

"No."

"This is silly, let go of my hand," she demanded. She tried to kick at him, but he quickly put one of his legs over hers. He had her pinned to the floor in no time.

"Careful, Granger, if you keep fighting me, your robe might slip off, and you might get a rug burn, and then where will you be?" he said. He straddled her waist, his hands tight around her wrists. He was not sitting, he was on his knees so that no weight was upon her, but he was too close for comfort.

"Why are you like this?" she asked. She looked up at the ceiling, to avoid his eyes.

He said, "Tell me you forgive me for being a brute back at lunch, and I'll let you go."

She turned to him and said, "Let me get this straight, you are demanding an acceptance of an apology that you haven't even made? You are mad! You haven't even apologized yet and you want me to forgive you! In addition, you're being a brute, demanding that I forgive you for being a brute! Let me up, Malfoy! This is outrageous!"

He brought his leg around, so that he was now beside her body, instead of on top. He still had her wrists in his hands. He pulled her to her side, to face him. His face was close to hers, again. Too close, she thought.

"If I apologize, you will accept, right?" he said. He put his nose right next to her neck.

"Why are you doing this?" She turned her head away from him. She started to weep.

"Why do you cry all the time, it's frustrating," he said, truthfully. He let go of her wrists, and fell on his back on the middle of the bathroom rug.

She stood up, wrapped her robe tighter around her and said, "I hate you Draco Malfoy."

"I know you do. I've always know it. You've hated me all your life. You could never like someone like me, could you?" He shut his eyes, put both hands over them, and rubbed them with the heels of his hands. His hands went to his hair, and he pulled at it in frustration. He sat up and said, "I think you did your friend a favour by not meeting him."

"Shut up!" she said. She walked to the door and said, "I will say this only one more time, I did go to meet him! I did! It just didn't work out!"

He stood up and said, "So, he's a bastard, right? He took one look at you and couldn't believe he was stupid enough to fall for you, and he left you, right?"

"No, you are the bastard, and you don't know anything about him or me. Just go away."

"I paid for this room!" he said.

"Fine!" She went to the other room, picked up her clothes, purse, new dress, and wand. She said, "I'll apparate back!"

"The robe please." He held out his hand. "If you steal it, I'll have to pay for it."

She glared at him, threw her clothes past him in the bathroom, and pushed him hard. He barely moved. Hermione finally pushed him out of the bathroom, slammed the door, and changed her clothes. When she walked out of the bathroom, she said, "Thanks for a lovely day." She apparated home right from the room.

He was so angry that he trashed the entire room. He then went and paid for everything he broke. He stayed in the room until night. He had no reason to go home. He had nothing he cared about, and no one who cared for him. He had expected to spend the night here with her, but in the back of his mind, he never really thought she would. He decided to go home. He never slept well anyway, so maybe at least if he went home, he could rest some. He would surprise the little crybaby. He would still go to the party tomorrow. He got his car, and started the long drive home, all alone. He had only driven about ten kilometers when the car stopped again. He managed to pull it off the side of the road. Perfect.

He could do one of two things, apparate home, leaving the car, or sleep in the car, and worry about it tomorrow. He decided to sleep in the car. He unfastened his seatbelt, and leaned his seat back all the way. He shut his eyes. He would have to face her tomorrow at the party. He hoped she would be receptive to him, and his apologies.

He had just shut his eyes, when there was a knock on his window. He looked up quickly, and saw her outside his window. He rolled it down and said, "Can't sleep again, Granger?"

"No, I can't. I told you I couldn't sleep alone. May I join you?"

Was she joking? He jerked his head to the side, to indict that she should come around to the passenger side. She opened the door and slipped inside.

"Do you want to go look under your hood again?" she inquired, smiling.

"Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. How did you find me?" he asked, shutting his eyes again.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm a witch. I can do magic. I can find people," she joked.

"Why are you in a better mood?" he asked, because he certainly wasn't.

"I forgive you, and I forgive myself, and you know what else, I am ready to admit something to you," she said. He opened his eyes, pulled his seat back up and looked right at her. She said, "I don't love my friend from the letters anymore."

He wanted to cry. He shut his eyes again and said, "Good for you, Granger. Way to get on with your life. Now, shut up and go to sleep, or go home." He turned his head the other way. Bully for her, she's moved on.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to yank it off. She said, "I think I might be falling for you, instead. Crazy, huh?"

He sat up suddenly. What should he say to that?


	9. Dashboard Confessions

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 9: Dashboard Confessions:**

He couldn't breathe. He knew people often said they had trouble breathing, but he really couldn't breathe. He rolled down the window, the warm evening air hit his face, and he still could not breathe. He opened the car door, and put his feet on the roadside. He turned back to look at her once, and then stepped out of the car and shut the door. He paced back and forth outside the car. He was speechless.

He looked back again, and in the dark, he could see that she was watching him, waiting and wondering what he was going to do next. He had no idea what he was going to do. He felt oddly conflicted, and he wasn't sure why. On one hand, he wanted her to confess that she still loved him, but the 'him' from the letters. On the other hand, he wanted her to fall for him, and he for she, as Draco and Hermione. Yes, he had mixed feelings, because he was jealous of himself!

She opened her car door and said, "I can tell that I've made you uncomfortable. I know you told me that you still loved the woman you left, so I understand if you can't reciprocate my feelings. I'm not even completely sure at this point what my feelings are."

He looked over at her. She took the few steps needed to reach him. She stood by the front of the car, and finished her thought, "I just don't know why I feel so comfortable with you, like I can tell you things, and, and, well, I don't know, like you already know me and words aren't necessary. When you hugged me earlier, after I hit my head on the dash, I felt oddly contented and excited, and I'm not sure I have ever felt that before."

"What about with Roger?" Draco asked, stepping closer.

"Not even with him," she said softly.

"What about with your 'letter friend'?" he asked.

"Don't underestimate what I felt for him. I know I didn't even know his name, but I loved him, very much, but he was not flesh and blood before me, you are. Am I a horrible person?" she asked.

The moonless sky was so dark, he could barely make out her features, but he was fairly certain she had begun to cry again.

He reached out his hand, and cupped her cheek. "Hush, Hermione. You aren't horrible. You're honest. Honesty is good. I just wish you would be completely honest with me."

They stayed there like that, his hand on her cheek, his thumb rubbing up and down. She took another step closer. "I want to be honest." She really did. "I'll try," she finally said.

He took the last step needed for them to be touching. He took it willingly. His other hand went to her other cheek. He held her face and pondered the things that he wanted to say to her. There was so much, but she had to make the first move. Until she was ready to tell him everything, he would be content with the way things were.

He held her face, for an eternity, or so he thought. Her hands came up to his wrists, and pulled his hands down. He lost his moment. He wanted to kiss her, but he took too long. She held his wrists, and while looking down at the ground, she said, "Shall we go home?"

"Whose home?" he asked. She let go of his wrists and looked up at his face.

"I don't know," she said. She looked at the ground again.

"I was going to sleep in the car," he said with a smile, and pointing toward the car.

"That wouldn't be very comfortable," she reasoned.

"Oh, you would be surprised," he said. He took her hand, and opened the back door. "After you," he motioned.

She regarded him wearily, but stepped in the back in the car. She scooted over the leather backseat, and he joined her. He shut the door.

"What do you think about what I said to you?" she asked.

"I think it's nice," he said vaguely. Nice? Did he say, 'nice'? "I mean, I think I feel the same way, odd as that seems. I think we both just need to take things slow…"

She interrupted, "Yes, start out as friends, and see what develops. Oh, and no more massages."

"Well, now there I draw the line," he joked.

"I seriously thought you were the masseuse, and when you kissed my shoulder that first time, I was so shocked, but I thought, well, I've never had a massage before, maybe that's part of it," she laughed.

He started laughing as well and said, "Tony gave me my massage before yours, and believe me, if that was a part of it, I would have had some beautiful witch, instead of him."

"Why did you do that, I mean, kiss me?" she asked. This time she didn't look away.

"I wanted to, I told you that." He edged closer to her. Their knees touched. "I do still love the woman I told you about, but that relationship is over, and perhaps, I should look for a new one," he said. He reached out and put his hand in her hair, combing his finger through the silky softness. "Tell me, what made you write this man back, when he wrote you."

"He seemed hurt, confused, and repentant. I wanted to reassure him at first that people could have second chances, and that I forgave him for whatever it was he thought he did to me. Everyone deserves a second chance. I didn't think he would write me the second time, but he did," she confessed.

"What did he say the second time, that made you write him the second time?" he asked.

"Nothing, that's it, his second letter wasn't full of remorse and regrets like the first. The second letter he wrote on a more personal level. He said that he had been lonely, and afraid for so long. He said that he really didn't have any friends, or anyone to talk to, so if I didn't mind, he was going to write to me, and I didn't have to write back. That's how it started. We wrote about our favourite books, our favourite colours, what we liked to do on a rainy afternoon. I told him I was unhappy in my marriage, something I had never told anyone, and he didn't judge me, and I didn't judge him."

"Did you tell him about your pregnancy?" he asked. He already knew the answer.

"No, we wrote back and forth for over a year, and when I found out I was pregnant, I already knew I loved him, and in some odd way, I thought if I told him about the baby, he would think I was betraying him, cheating on him. Silly, no?" she said.

His hand was still in her hair, and he just now noticed. He removed his hand from her hair, and put it on her arm. "You should have told him. He might have wanted to know. It might have made a difference. He might not have wanted to meet with you." He clarified by adding, "I mean, he might have wanted you to try to work out your marriage, for the sake of the baby, instead of him being selfish, and wanting you to pick him over your husband."

She turned slightly, and looked out the window. His hand moved to her back. She said, "I'm the selfish one. I only thought of myself, not him, or my husband, or my baby. Like I said, my selfishness cost me a great deal."

He moved again, so his chest was against her back. He pulled her back toward him and put his arms around her. He then moved back so that his back was against the car door. He shifted so that his left leg was on the back seat, his right leg on the floorboard, and Hermione pressed up against his chest, in his arms. She lay her head back on his shoulder, and put both her legs on the seat.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Granger. Give yourself a break," he said in her ear. He kissed her cheek. His arms held her tighter. Her arms went over his. "Live in the moment, not in the past. Push aside your fears and worries, and live, Hermione. Just live."

She looked up at him, and he took that moment to kiss her lips. Just a brush of his lips on hers. She turned her head back around and shivered. He held her tighter still. "Let's get out of this car." He wanted to hold her all night, but not in the backseat of the car.

"Perhaps we should, because my dad saw me head up to bed, and he might wonder where I am tomorrow, although I doubt it. Tomorrow is the big day, you know." She looked back over her shoulder to him. He brought his hand up to her neck, and held her head in place. He leaned his head down and kissed her again. This time, he applied more pressure. She shifted out of his arms, and put her fingers up to her lips.

"I'm sorry, too fast?" he asked.

"No, it's just, I liked it," she said. She didn't know what else to say. If she liked it, why did she stop him? She had a moment of clarity, and added, "I think we should leave now."

She scooted past him, opened the back door of the car, and stepped outside. He followed. "Mike can look at your car tomorrow. He's good with mechanical things," she said.

"Fine," he said. He took her hand and started walking with her.

"We aren't walking the 40 some kilometers back home, are we?" she asked.

He shrugged and kept her hand in his. He kept walking. Hermione had no choice but to follow.

They walked along the dark, deserted road, hand in hand, quietly reflecting. Finally, he said, "Let's apparate to your house. I found your bed uncommonly comfortable. I've slept better there than I have in a long time."

"Why do you have trouble sleeping?" she asked.

He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulder, "Dear little, Granger, don't you know, I still must have some secrets, just like you. Poor, sweet thing, you really want to heal the world, don't you, even if it means your own wounds stay open and fester."

She frowned and pushed him away from her. "I don't have open festering wounds, Malfoy."

He walked slightly ahead of her and said, "Yes, I can see you have nice little plasters on them all, camouflaging them from the outside world."

"Is this the start of another fight, because if it is, can it wait until tomorrow? I'm dead on my feet," she said.

He turned and looked at her. He couldn't help but smile. He said, "Take my hand, Hermione, and I'll take you home. It's the least I can do, since my kidnapping turned out so wrong." He took her hand, she did not offer, and he apparated with her back to her room.

He sat down on her bed, and fell backwards, his feet still on the floor, so that he was lying sideways at the foot of her bed. "I'm so tired," he said. In every way possible, he was tired, physically, emotionally, literally, and figuratively. Draco Malfoy was a tired man.

She walked to her bathroom, and came out in the same virginal white nightgown that she wore the night before. He was in the same position, having not moved a muscle. Hermione said, "Are you staying like that?"

"Yes, I think so," he said.

She looked at him for a moment, her head slightly to the side. She finally went over to the left side of the bed, and pulled down the covers. She threw them right over his head. She climbed in the sheets, and pushed at his head, which was on her side, with her feet. He still didn't move. She sat up and said, "Malfoy, you might smother under the covers that way."

"You will be convicted of my murder, then," was his muffled reply. She crawled to the end of the bed and removed the covers.

"Come up here, head on the pillows, feet off the floor and at the end of the bed, like a normal person," she said.

"No, I'm comfortable, but thanks," he said. He was not being playful or difficult. He really was comfortable.

However, Hermione Granger would not be appeased. She climbed off the bed and lifted his left leg. She removed his shoe. His foot hit the floor with a thud. She lifted his right foot and did the same. She picked up his feet, and pulled his legs over to the pillows. Well, he may be backwards on the bed, but at least he was on it, and she had room for her feet now. She crawled over his body, which caused an unwelcome reaction in his nether regions. His hand reached out for her thigh as she climbed over him. She put her head at the footboard, so she was in the same direction as he. She reached down for both pillows; put one on his chest and one under her head.

"There, aren't you more comfortable now?" she deduced.

"I was comfortable before," he said honestly. He stood up, and she moved to her side, to watch him. He removed his clothing, all but his boxers, which today, were white silk, and he took the pillow, put it back at the headboard, and lay down the right way on the bed.

"Now I'm the wrong way," she said.

"Wrong way, Granger. That will be your new nickname," he chuckled. She kicked at him with her foot, and he grabbed it and kept it in his grasp. He ran his index finger up her foot, and she tried to pull it away, stifling a laugh.

She managed to pull it away, and she situated herself so that she too was in the correct position. She reached down for the pillow for the last time, put it down, and laid her head upon it. She turned to her side to look at him.

"What are you thinking about, Draco?" she asked.

"You," he answered truthfully. He turned to look at her. "Just reveal one thing a day to me, please. Let me help heal you. It will heal me, as well."

She sat up so suddenly, it baffled him. He sat up as well. "What?" she asked.

He didn't know what had he said or did to garner such a reaction from her. He repeated her query, and said, "What?"

"You told me to let you heal me, and it would heal you as well," she said softly. "Those are almost the same words my letter friend said to me, in his fourth letter."

"Sounds like a smart gentleman, I hope you heed both of our advice," he said. He was glad the room was dark, so she couldn't see the anxiety that was etched on his face. He lay back down, with his back to her, and said, "Well, big day tomorrow, goodnight, Hermione."

She lay down as well, in the same position as he, and reached for his shoulder. He moved back to his back. She cuddled up next to him, and placed her head on his chest. His arms went tightly around her. She said, "Okay, I'll reveal one thing a day, but you must do the same." She decided to forget about the fact that he said something so familiar to her. Well, not forget it, but store it away for now. She was beginning to think he knew more than he let on. She repeated, "You have to do the same."

"Should we start tonight?" he asked. He looked at the top of her head. She placed her hand lightly on his chest and began to move it in small circles. He wanted to melt into the sheets.

"I think we've revealed enough tonight. Goodnight, Draco," she said as she closed her eyes.

He waited many long minutes, until he said, "Sweet dream, my sweet girl." He kissed the top of her head. He already decided that tomorrow, at the party, he was going to tell her the truth. Oh, and he was definitely going to kiss her.


	10. Something to Hide

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 10 – Something to Hide:**

The bright sun filled the room, as Hermione regretfully opened her eyes. She was not looking forward to this day, and the fact that it was finally here, beautiful day though it may be, was not easing her mind at all. She noticed that Draco's head was on her shoulder, his arm around her waist, which was a direct contrast to the way they fell asleep. She decided not to try to analyze their relationship today. She had enough to keep her mind occupied.

Draco's hand moved from around her waist to rest right under her breasts. She glared at him cautiously, trying to determine if he was still asleep. Then, she heard it. Someone walking up her stairs. The only reason she now recognized the formerly foreign sound, was that she had heard it once already this week, for the first time ever, and now, there it was again. Who could it be? She shook Draco's body and said in an almost inaudible whisper, "Malfoy, wake up, someone's coming."

"Tell them to go away, I want to sleep," he said, not opening his eyes. He moved to his back and brought her with him.

She pushed off his chest and said, "Go hide in the bathroom, or disapparate, or something!" She stood up and pushed his clothing under the bed. He rolled over on his side, not facing her, and tried to go back to sleep.

As the person reached the landing, Hermione did the only thing she could think to do. She stooped back over on the bed and pushed him off, where he landed on the floor with a thump and a curse word. Hermione heard her father say, "Hermione, are you okay?" from outside the door.

"Yes, I fell off the bed," she said. She ran over to the side of the bed, where Malfoy was angry on the floor, and leaned down and said, "Under the bed, now!" Just then, her father opened her door. Draco ducked down, and Hermione remained on the other side of the bed, standing next to him. Her father could not see Draco on the floor, from the doorway, as the bed separated her father from them. Hermione still tried to push him under the bed with her foot, and he continued to swat at her legs.

"Are you sure you're okay?" her father asked. Oh, Merlin, he was sitting on her bed. Thanks goodness it was a full size bed. "Sit down, sweetheart; I need to talk to you."

Hermione sat on the other side of the bed, her right leg dangling down to the floor, her body facing his, as he leaned against the headboard. "What is it, do you want to tell me not to come today, because I wouldn't mind staying up here," she said.

Draco was sitting low on the other side of the bed, on the floor, and he had his hand running up her dangling leg, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Why would you think that?" he asked. "No, I wanted to tell you that I got a letter from Roger yesterday. Your way, you know, by owl."

"What did he want?" Hermione asked. Draco stopped rubbing her leg with his hand so he could hear what the man wanted as well.

"He wanted to be assured that you were okay. He said that Harry told him that you came here. He told me something else, sweetheart. He told me you had lost a baby. He said it was a late stage stillbirth. Why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione's mouth felt dry. She edged to the end of the bed, and found herself reaching down with her right hand. Draco touched her fingers with his, held her hand with one hand, and her leg with his other, as if he was her anchor, her buoy, holding her in place, and above water.

"Listen, Dad, well, I really don't know what to say. I should have told you, and I'm sorry," she said.

"Does anyone here know? Martin or Michael?" he asked.

"Draco knows," she said.

"Ah, I see." What did her father mean by that? He stood up, and so did she. He started around the side of the bed, and she was worried he would see Draco. Thank goodness, Draco was fast and he slipped under the bed. Her father joined her on her side of the bed and he took her hands. Draco reached out and touched the back of her foot. "Hermione, I don't think you should go from one situation to another, do you know what I mean? You need time to recover from your loss, and really, you have two losses, your marriage and your baby. You shouldn't rush into anything with Draco. I'm fond of him, but he has some baggage of his own. His mother and I were quite close at the end, and she confided a lot to me. She told me about the war your world had, about that evil Voldemort, and about you and your best friends, and your role in ending things. I don't know why you never told me, but I knew you felt you needed to hide things from me, and I respected that."

"Mrs. Malfoy also told me about her family's role in the war, and well, I just think taking on a friendship with Draco would be a lot for you to handle right now. Just think about what I said. Oh, and Martin confided to me that he knows the truth about you. We're going to tell Michael as well. No more secrets and all. I know that's why you didn't tell me about the miscarriage, because you felt the need to keep secrets."

"Dad, if you are serious about no more secrets, well, shouldn't you tell Monica about my magic?" she asked.

"Monica has known for a long time," he relayed.

That shocked Hermione. It shocked Draco, too. He pinched her foot, to signify that he was shocked. She lifted her foot and stepped on his hand, hard. "She knows?"

"Yes, Hermione, she's my wife. I don't keep secrets from her," he said.

"Is that why she hates me?" Hermione asked.

Her father walked back toward the center of the room. Draco scooted out from under the bed. Hermione stayed where she was. Draco reached up and put his hand on her calf.

"Sweetheart, that's all very complicated, and I'm not going to lie to you and say that she doesn't harbor bad feelings toward you, because that would be insulting your intelligence, however, it's not your magic that she doesn't like. Listen, shall I write Roger back and tell him you're fine?" Hermione could tell that her father didn't want to discuss his wife. He never did. He would excuse her bad behaviour until the day he died.

"I'll write him, I promise," she said. "Do you all need me to help with anything today?" she asked.

"Goodness, no. Monica has a full staff today, plus caterers, and entertainment, and such. They'll take care of all the work. Pamper yourself, and make yourself look pretty. I'll see you down there at noon, on the button. I love you, sweetheart," he said. He blew her a kiss and shut the door. She sat down on the bed, and Draco pulled himself up to his knees. He put his hands on each side of her body, his chest against her legs.

He bent over and kissed her knee. "Your father has no spine," he said. He didn't care if he offended her with his observations.

"I know," she agreed. That shocked Draco.

He stood and sat down next to her. He bumped his shoulder into hers and said, "I would tell you to ignore the bad things your father said about me, but in a way, they weren't that bad, and you actually know worse things about me. However, I will tell you to ignore the part about not being friends with me. We all need friends, you know."

"I know," she said, though she didn't sound convinced to him. They remained side by side. She felt his hard muscled arm next to hers. She reached her hand out, and touched his arm near his elbow, running her hand down the top of his arm, over the fine hairs, the hard muscles, the large sinewy veins. She ended her trek at his hand. She placed her hand over the top of his, her finger rubbing his knuckles, and then she interlaced her fingers with his, the palm of her hand soft on the top of his. She picked his hand up and turned it over. With her free hand, she traced a line down his wrist to his middle finger. Her touch was so soft and silky that he might have thought he had imagined her touch, if he hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes.

He looked over at her face. Her downcast eyes were looking at their clasped hands. He looked at her long dark eyelashes, as they fluttered against her cheeks. He bent his head lower, to look in her eyes. She moved her eyes slightly, and captured his stare.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked. He didn't mean with his hand. He meant with his heart.

"I don't know," she answered meekly. She let go of his hand and stood up. "You are still coming today, aren't you?"

He walked up to her. His hands went lightly down her arms, ending at her hands. "No, I've changed my mind, sorry," he said. She looked deflated, and he said, "Just joking, I wouldn't miss this day for the world." He let go of her hands and said, "Where are my clothes?"

"Under the bed, seriously though, you are coming?" she asked.

"Didn't I say I would? Stop being a harpy, if I say I'll come, I'll come," he said, bending down to pick up his clothing. They had dust all over them. "Do you ever clean under this bed?"

"Of course not, and I'm hardly a harpy, you know."

He uttered the phrase, "Are, too," as he slipped one leg in his pants.

When she passed him to go to the bathroom, she gave his shoulder a push and he landed on the bed. She added, "I'm not a harpy!" She walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

As per the course, when she came out of the bathroom, he was missing. She was glad this time, since she wanted to take her time to get ready. She wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted to be pretty; at least she wanted Draco to think she was pretty.

She dressed in her lilac dress, and curled her hair in soft little curls all over, then twisted it on top of her head. She put on very light makeup, and a pair of white sandals. It was 11:00 o'clock, still too early for the party. She didn't want to upset Monica by walking downstairs early, so she decided to apparate to Draco's house.

She apparated outside, and instead of knocking on the door, she opened it, timidly. She walked inside, and said, "Draco, are you home?" A small house elf walked up to her and she said hello to it. "Could you tell me where your master is?" The elf merely pointed up the stairs. Hermione walked up the stairs. She called out again, "Draco?"

She looked in the bedrooms on the second floor, and when she didn't see him, she opened the door to his attic, and started up. He didn't hear her as she climbed the stairs. His back was to her when she reached the top. He was painting. He had already started her portrait. She said, "Draco?" again.

He turned around. He immediately took the canvas off the easel, turned it around, and propped it against the wall, so she couldn't see it. He seemed embarrassed. "Is it noon? I'm not even dressed yet," he said.

"Was that my portrait?" she asked.

"Well, I started it, but I still need you to sit for me," he admitted. "Don't even bother asking to look at it yet. I'm a temperamental artist, and I won't have you looking at my unfinished work," he said with airs.

She said, "I just don't want you to paint me nude or anything." She laughed.

He said, "I better paint a bathing suit on this, then."

"You, you didn't paint me, I mean, that's not a nude portrait, is it?"

"I had to use my imagination, but I think I did a good job," he said proudly. She reached around him to turn the painting around, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the painting. He pushed her back slightly and held out his hands. He said, "I wasn't sure of the exact size of your breasts, but I think I got them right." He squinted one eye and held his hands in front of his face, framing her figure with his thumbs and index fingers. He added, "No, I think I might need to take an actual measurement, do you mind?" He reached for her but she pushed his hands away.

"You arse!" she laughed. "I know that's not a nude portrait. I saw a bit of it, and I didn't see nipples anywhere."

He laughed at that statement. "Were you looking for your nipples?" he asked.

She ignored him and asked, "Aren't you going to tell me I look nice?" She twirled, her dress fanning out around her.

"Yes, yes, you are beautiful, blah, blah, and a final blah," he answered glibly. He put his paintbrush in some linseed oil and took her hand. "Help me find something to wear, so I might be as pretty as you." He kept her hand until they reached his room. He opened the door and walked over to his walk-in closet.

She hung on the doorframe and said, "For a man who hates shopping, you have a lot of clothes. I've never seen so many clothes."

"I have to keep up appearances, you know," he said. He held up a pair of grey slacks and she shook her head no. He threw them on the floor. She came over, picked them up, and hung them back up on the rod.

He held out a pair of black slacks. "For an all day picnic? In the summer? Black?" she asked. She took the slacks from him and said, "Here, these tan trousers with this white cotton crisp shirt." She seemed pleased. He started to strip in front of her. She squealed, which made him laugh again, and she retreated from the closet.

She sat on his bed. It was a very large bed. She pushed her way back into the middle of the bed, and fell backwards. "We should sleep here tonight, this bed is very comfortable," she surmised. He walked out of the closet, buttoning his shirt. He glared at her as he tucked his shirt in his waistband. He slipped on his shoes, walked over, and gave her his hand. "Let me stay for a moment. This might be the most comfortable bed I've ever known," she said.

"Have you known a lot of beds?" he asked, amused. "And what makes you think we are spending the night together tonight?" He reached for her hand again and said, "You will muss your dress." He pulled on her arm, and she slid across the silky duvet. Once he had her to the edge of the bed, she sat up and stood beside him.

He took her hand and she said, "Bye bed, see you tonight."

"We won't see it tonight," he said. "I like your bed."

"Who said you have to be here," she asked.

"Ha!" he expounded. He let go of her hand as they stood in the upstairs hall and he seemed really to look at her for the first time. His hand went up and bounced one of the small curls on her head. "You really do look lovely."

She smiled and blushed. She said, "About time you took notice of my appearance. You look acceptable as well."

"Acceptable?" he asked shocked. "I'm a hell of a handsome man, and you know it to be true. It's early yet, shall we walk to this damn thing? It should be noon by the time we arrive."

She thought a walk through the fields with him would be nice. She nodded and held out her hand.

"Do you want a tip?" he asked, joking.

"No, take my hand," she said.

He ran down the stairs and said, "If you can catch me, I'll hold your hand." He ran out the door.

"You are so juvenile," she said. She shut his front door and didn't see him. He couldn't have run off that fast. She looked all around and she finally shrugged and started across the large front porch. He ran out from behind a column and grabbed her hand. He pulled her across the field.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was an azure blue, with white wispy cirrus clouds streaking through the sky. It was warm, but not humid. There was no hint of rain or inclement weather of any kind. She said, "Monica seemed to have ordered the perfect day for her party."

"Perfect," he agreed. "So, here's the plan," he started, as he let go of her hand, and walked backwards, facing her. "We go there, make every man wish they were me, every woman wish they were you, have fun, drink too much, eat too much, laugh at the inferior little Muggles, make fun of your evil 'stepmother', I mean, your 'father's evil wife', and around midnight, I will kiss you and we'll retire to your room." He seemed pleased with his agenda, as he smiled and turned back around. He ran slightly ahead of her.

"I think that sounds amendable," she said. He was halfway to their farm, when he turned around and saw she had lagged behind. He ran back to her. She had stopped by a broken fence. She leaned against the railing, and looked out across the field.

"Where did you go, Granger? The party's that way." He pointed toward their farm.

"How am I going to do this? Everyone will be staring at me, wondering about me," she said. "They'll be talking about me behind my back."

"Aren't you rather used to that by now?" he asked, sitting beside her. She gave him a quizzical look and he said, "I mean, being a Muggle-born, you were used to people looking at you and wondering about you at school. In addition, you have to admit, being one of Scarhead's best friends kept you the center of attention. This will be a piece of cake."

"What if someone is unkind?" she asked.

"Let's role-play." He said, in a high-pitched voice, "Look Mildred, there's the Granger girl. You do know that she was the result of a love affair between Dr. Granger and another woman. I hear they hide her in the attic, because she's so hideous." He moved to his left and in a different voice he said, "Really, Matilda? Scandalous, to say the least. She's not the least bit attractive either. Oops, she coming our way and she probably heard us speaking ill of her."

Hermione couldn't contain her grin and she said, "You talk like a character from a very poorly written play. Also, your woman voice needs some work."

"Stay in character, and tell me what you would say to Matilda and Mildred," he said through clenched teeth. He crossed his arms in front of him and waited.

"For your information, ladies," Hermione started, "my father loved my mother very much, and I don't hide in the attic, I merely sleep there. Also, you two don't look very attractive either."

He stood there, dropped his arms, opened his mouth and seemed utterly shocked. She smiled, for she thought she did a good job. He said, "That was pitiful. You tell them you sleep in the attic, and you say they aren't attractive EITHER. That implies you aren't attractive as well, you know. Here, you're now the mean, bitter, town folks, and I'll be you, and show you how it's done. Go on, insult me." He stood there and held his arms open. He motioned toward himself with his hands. "Go on, Granger."

She thought for a moment and said, "Oh, Rosa, look over there, that's Dr. Granger's bastard daughter. She's an ugly thing, don't you agree? Her hair looks like a mop on top of her head, and she's terribly ugly." Hermione took a step to the right, adapted her voice, and said, "I agree, Sylvia, and who the hell is that ugly blonde man on her arm. His hair has to be fake, for no one has that colour of hair, and he's a little fat, don't you think?"

Draco frowned and said, "I'm not fat, Granger!"

"Is that the best you can do, Malfoy?" she turned and sprinted away. She faced him as she ran and said, "Hurry, Malfoy, we don't want Mildred, Matilda, Sylvia and Rosa to miss our grand entrance." He ran up to her, grabbed her hand, and slowed her down.

"I'm not fat," he reiterated.

"Fine, you're stocky," she said.

"I'm known for my slender built and athletic frame, thank you, Granger," he said. He pushed his finger in her side, and made her laugh.

They came upon a large, white tent in the field that was just beyond the main barn. The barn doors were opened. That was where the food was to be. There was a band setting up beyond the tent, and the wait staff was putting the final additions on the tables that were peppered around the tent.

"Ready, Granger?"

She sighed and said, "Give me, strength, Malfoy. Give me strength."

He took her hand and they headed toward the barn. Mrs. Granger was yelling at one of the caterers. She turned and saw Hermione and Draco. She looked perturbed and said, "Hello Mr. Malfoy. Hermione, go in and tell your father I need him NOW!"

Hermione nodded and started in the house. She ran in the kitchen, up the stairs, to the foyer. She looked around the downstairs, didn't see her dad, so she walked up the main stairs. She walked down the hall, and heard several girls talking in one of the bedrooms. She stopped outside the hall when she heard her name.

"I can't believe Uncle Richard would flaunt his bastard child around for all the village and relatives to see. It's scandalous," one of them said. Hermione smiled, thinking that when she and Draco were role-playing, they said almost the same thing, including the word 'scandalous'. Her smile turned to a frown in a second flat at the next thing she heard.

"Well, Aunt Monica said she came uninvited. Her husband left her apparently, and Uncle Richard just told Aunt Monica this morning that she had an abortion, or something, and that's why her husband left her. It probably wasn't even her husband's child. I also heard my mum say that she's trying to put her clutches into that nice Draco Malfoy. He's rich, you know, and apparently she's squandered away her grandparent's money, so she's looking for a new source of income."

"I heard she's pretty. Cousin Martin said so," one of the younger ones said.

The other three girls laughed and the first one said, "She's horrible looking. Aunt Monica said she's always been a simply ugly girl. Her mother was apparently ugly, too. Monica said she was a common whore who tried to trap Uncle Richard into leaving his wife. Who knows, he's probably not even her father."

Hermione stood flat up against the wall and started to shake. She turned ghost-white. Draco walked up the stairs and said, "Hey, there you are, Granger."

The four girls walked out of the bedroom when they heard Draco's voice. They immediately saw Hermione standing in the hall. Two of the girls looked smug, one looked embarrassed, and one excused herself, went into the bedroom, and shut the door.

"Hello, ladies," Draco said. He walked past them and said, "What's wrong, Hermione, you look pale."

She looked over at the girls, and back at Draco. She said, "Why don't you ask Sylvia, Rosa, Matilda and Mildred. They seem to think they know me quite well. They seem to think they know you too, Draco."

"Listen, Hermione," one of the girls started. Hermione raised her hand to silence her.

She said, "I don't want to hear another word come out of your stupid mouth. Draco, I'm going upstairs for a moment. Will you find my father for Monica?" She ran up the stairs to the attic, as two of the girls started to giggle.

Draco turned to them and asked them, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He ran up the stairs after Hermione.


	11. Evil is as Evil Does

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 11- Evil is as Evil Does:****  
**  
Draco ran up the stairs to the attic, but stopped near the top step. She was sitting on that step; head in hand, a despondent look on her face. He sat beside her and said, "What did they say?"

"The same things we said to each other in our role-playing, only worse," she said.

Draco smiled and said, "What, they said I was fat and ugly, and that you slept in an attic?"

"Yes, that's exactly what they said," she answered sarcastically. Draco rubbed her arm and she said, "They said that my mother was a whore, who tried to trap my father, and that I probably wasn't even his daughter. They said that I had an abortion, not a stillbirth. They said I was after you for your money."

Draco said, "Well, now that's just silly, because I'm after your money, not the other way around."

He was trying hard to lighten the mood. She put her head on her knees and said, "Why are people so unkind?"

"Hell, Granger, people are more than just unkind," Draco said with his hand on her back. "People are evil, cruel, ruthless, jealous, envious, and more. Unkind is one of the lesser evils. I think you've faced more horrors in your life than just unkind people. I want to go down to the party, and I want to go with you." He stood up and pulled her up by her arm. He started down the stairs. She had to follow, or she would have fallen down the stairs.

She knew he had a point. She didn't want to ruin their day with idle gossip. They had just reached the second landing when a young girl of about fourteen, with long blonde straight hair, came out of the bedroom that was the scene of the crime.

"Hermione?" the girl started, "I'm Bethany. Your Uncle Embry, your father's brother, was my grandfather. I'm sorry what Monica's nieces said about you. They're too old to act like that. Martin told me a lot about you, and I'm really happy to meet you finally." She held out her hand.

Draco leaned over to Hermione, and said in her ear, "Out of the mouths of babes."

Hermione smiled and shook the young girl's hand. Then she reached over and took Draco's hand and they went back downstairs and outside to the party.

There were many people already there and more arrived every minute. Hermione held on to Draco's hand, and weaved them both through the crowd. He was proud of her, and the fact that she came back outside, and that she held her head high. She turned to Draco and said, "What should we do first?"

"Food is always a good thing. It makes me happy," Draco said. They went to the buffet and started filling their plates.

Martin walked up to Hermione and said, "You look very nice today, Hermione. Hello, Malfoy." He shook Malfoy's hand. He pointed toward a pretty woman with light brown hair and said, "That's my girlfriend, Maureen. That's her daughter, Erin." Hermione looked surprised.

She turned to Martin and said, "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"Didn't think I had it in me, did you?" Martin laughed.

Michael came up and said, "No, she probably thought you were never going to find a woman, like the rest of us." Martin hit his brother's arm, very hard.

Martin said, "The thing is, Mum and Dad don't know about us yet. I don't know how they'll react; especially when they find out she has a daughter."

"Well, good luck with that," Hermione said with a smile. Draco led her to a table near the edge of the large white tent.

"Maybe he'll take all the heat today, and everyone will leave you alone," Draco said, joking.

"I hope so," she answered, seriously. It wasn't long before the band was playing, men were throwing horseshoes and darts, women were in small circles, talking and gossiping, and the young people were on the makeshift dance floor, dancing. Hermione excused herself from Draco for a moment, to find something else to drink.

She found some lemonade, and started back to the tent. A very nice looking young man came up to her and said, "Hello, are you Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. She was uncertain what would be next. "I'm John; I work with Mike, here at your father's farm. I'm the crew leader. I'm happy finally to meet you. Would you care to dance later?" Draco noticed them talking and got up to join them.

He heard the 'dance later' comment and said, "There you are, darling," and he kissed Hermione's cheek. He didn't know what possessed him, but he felt suddenly very overprotective of her. One might even say that he felt 'jealous'.

Hermione gave him a funny look and said, "Yes, here I am, darling." She turned back to John and said, "Apparently, my dance card is full, but thank you." She turned toward Draco and led him away from the young man. "What was that about, darling?"

"I just wanted to save you from public humiliation. He was probably going to get you out there on the dance floor, call you all sorts of derogatory names, and leave you alone in a heap in tears."

"You're mad," she said, only to amend her statement a second later by saying, "No, you, my friend, are jealous. HA! You are, don't try to deny it."

"I'm not denying anything, Granger. I am jealous, so what? I'm your escort to this crazy thing, so all your dances really do belong to me," he declared. "Speaking of dancing, that's a nice song, let's go." He took her hand before she could protest, put her lemonade on an empty table, and led her to the middle of the dance floor.

"This reminds me of some Jane Austen novel, where the characters have a ball and everyone dances, have too much food and wine, and everyone stands around and gossips," she said.

"As long as we don't have to do any of those crazy 1800's dance reels," he said. His hand was on the small of her back, on top of her dress, his other hand holding her right hand securely. She relaxed in his embrace, and found herself leaning into his body. His hand went higher, until it touched the bare skin of her upper back. His hand went to the back of her neck, and he rubbed the nape of her neck with his index finger. Her head went to his shoulder, and rested there. She shut her eyes.

"Why does it feel so right?" she said to herself.

"What feels so right?" he asked.

She kept her head on his shoulder and said, "This. Dancing with you. Holding your hand, and even lying in bed in each other's arms. It's strange, but oddly comforting and more real than anything I've felt in such a long time. I feel as if the only place I belong is here in your arms. Why is that?"

"Do you really want me to answer?" he asked back.

"Yes," she said.

He kept her right hand tightly in his left, and his right hand stayed on her neck. He pressed her firmly against his body, and he barely moved. His mouth went to her ear, and his breath tickled her neck as he spoke. He said softly, "_Sometimes I wish life was different. Sometimes I wish life wasn't what you see, but what you want it to be. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if it all stopped, but only sometimes. Most of the time, I only want someone to love_."

Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe. Her heart was thumping in her ears. She tried to push off his chest, to look in his eyes, but he held her too tight. He kept speaking, worlds that were familiar to her, but foreign coming from his mouth. He said, "And to that you wrote to me, '_The journey home is never straight, it bends with curves and slopes, making our way harder. I imagine your arms around me, and I can feel peace within. With your eyes upon me, I know I can continue to live. With your candle burning brightly, I can see the truth, with the road we've both taken; we can reach the redemptions we seek'_."

Hermione answered, in a voice barely above a whisper, "And then you wrote back, '_your blood flowing will wash away my sins, for they don't know the real you, the course of your life, it fades and reappears, and all we can do is anticipate the outcome, and capture happiness, rejoice in our defeats, cherish and bestow love when we can'_."

She wanted to cry. Was he seriously declaring what she thought he was? Was he proclaiming to be 'him'? He could not be HIM. She wanted to look at Draco, look in his eyes, so she could see the truth within, but all she could do was hold him tight and unyielding.

He said, "Don't deny what you know is the truth, Hermione."

"I'm not denying anything," she said, repeating what he said earlier when she said he was jealous. She put both her arms tighter around his waist. She held him as if she thought he might disappear at any moment. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I don't know, but I do know that we promised each other one truth a day. That's my truth. I'm the one who wrote to you, and I'm the one to whom you wrote back."

"I don't know what to say," she said. Her head was still on his chest, and he felt a tear on her face.

"Tell me a truth, Hermione. Tell me why you lied to me when you said you had gone to meet me. You never came to meet me," he said.

She finally looked at him and said, "Did you lie when you said that you were going to meet the woman you loved, but you chickened out?"

"Yes, I lied. I went to the spot we were to meet, and I waited for you for four hours. Four hours, Hermione. Where were you? If you got cold feet, just tell me that. It won't matter now, but I want to know the truth," he begged.

At that moment, her father touched her elbow. She broke from Draco's embrace, but held his gaze.

"Are you alright, sweetheart, you look pale," Dr. Granger said.

"I'm fine," she said, barely above a murmur.

"I'm going to steal her for a moment, Draco. I need to introduce her to the crowd," he said. Hermione hadn't heard a word her father had just said, or she might have protested. She was trying to think of what she was going to say to Draco. She was not ready to tell him the truth yet, at least, not **that** truth. She was still shocked that he was the one who had written to her. He was the man she loved, and he told her the other day that he was still in love with the woman he had left. That meant he still loved her.

Her father took her up to the bandstand area, and said something to the man who had been singing. She was still staring right at Draco. She didn't hear a thing her father said to the man. She didn't notice when her father went up to the microphone. She didn't hear him introduce her to the crowd. However, she did see Draco smile and start to applaud. Soon, Michael and Martin were also clapping. She didn't know what her father had said, but everyone in the crowd started smiling at her and raising their glasses. Well, not everyone. One person didn't applaud, didn't smile, and she certainly didn't raise her glass.

Richard Granger took his daughter's hand and said, "May I have this dance?" He led Hermione down to the dance floor.

The crowd dispersed, and Hermione and her father started to dance under the hot early afternoon sun. Hermione asked, "What happened back there?"

Her father assumed she was surprised. He didn't know that she was dazed, and honestly had not comprehended what had just occurred. He said, "I just wanted to finally introduce you to everyone. I told them all to welcome my daughter home."

Hermione smiled at her father, and then searched the crowd for Draco. She could not see him. The song ended and she went to find him. Everyone came up to her, told her how happy they were to meet her, how they had heard so much about her. She met relatives she had never met before. She soon realized that in her father's eyes, today's celebration was almost a 'welcome home' party for Hermione, and Monica was not in the least bit pleased.

Hermione finally walked through the crowd and re-entered the tent. She saw three of the mean girls from earlier at a table, and as she passed by one of them said, "Welcome home, hope you don't plan to stay." Hermione turned back around.

"Excuse me, were you addressing me?" Hermione asked.

The oldest girl stood up and said, "My mother is in that house right now comforting her sister because Uncle Richard has decided to parade his love child around, so I guess what I'm trying to say is, why don't you leave? You don't belong here."

Hermione glared at the girl for a moment, a girl not so much unlike herself in looks and appearance, but so very different in so many ways. Hermione decided not to dignify the girl with a response, and she turned to leave. The girl said, "Answer me, you piece of trash."

There was a collective gasp from the other members of the table. A young man at the table said, "Gina is just jealous because you're so much prettier than her. I apologize for her bad behaviour, Miss Granger."

Hermione said, "No need to apologize. When someone says something unkind to another person, it only reflects badly on them, and anyone with good manners and comportment can recognize as much, and those who don't recognized it, only malign their own character." Hermione turned to the young woman, who was now red in the face and said, "A great woman once said that people can only hurt you if you allow them to do so. I'm not going to allow you to hurt me. I do, however, feel sorry for you."

By this time, Draco had made his way to the small crowd that surrounded the girl's table. He had heard part of the conversation, and he was about to rescue her, when he realized she didn't need rescued.

He grabbed her hand and said, "Well done, Granger. Frankly, I would have cursed the lot of them. I have my wand, if you want me to do the honours."

"Maybe later," she said, "right now, I think we have some things to discuss. Let's go find somewhere private."

"Are we going to kiss?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Don't you think we have some important things to discuss first?" she asked.

"We do at that, but I say, let's kiss first. I haven't kissed you yet, not really, and I want to so badly that I have physical pain," he regaled. He put his arms around her and nuzzled his nose on her neck.

"Draco, people are watching," she chastised.

"You're already the talk of the tent, so what?" he said.

She pushed him away, but grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house. There were catering staff all around the lowest levels and kitchen, so Hermione took him upstairs. She took him down a long hallway past the lounge, which led to Dr. Granger's study. She opened the double doors, and pulled him inside.

"Draco, I have so much to say to you, and to ask," she said.

"As do I," he agreed. "Shall we sit?" He pulled her to a settee under the windows. They had just sat down when the doors exploded open.

"Richard, how could you? I am mortified! It's bad enough that she's here, but how could you show her off to everyone? You didn't even tell me you were going to do that!" Monica Granger was so angry, that she began to hit her husband's chest with her fists.

"Monica, calm down. She's my daughter, and it's high time we introduced her to our family and friends," Richard said. "It's past time, really."

They had yet to notice Draco and Hermione's presence in the room. Martin and Michael Granger came running in. "Mother, calm down," Martin said. He walked over to his mother, and pulled her off their father. Michael, however, took notice of the two original occupants of the room.

"Hermione, come outside with me," Michael urged.

His mother turned toward the couple on the settee under the window. Hermione and Draco both stood up at the exact same time. Draco put her slightly behind his body, for the older woman had a look of rage on her face, which would rival Voldemort.

"You, leave my house now and never return!" Monica seethed, pointing her finger at Hermione.

"Mother, it's not her fault that father did that. You've always blamed the wrong person," Martin said.

"It is her fault! I hate her and I want her gone! She's a freak of nature, and a constant reminder of my husband's infidelity, and either she leaves my home, Richard, or I will leave and never come back!" Monica walked over to her husband and added, "I've put up with more than I should have over the years. I will not have it any longer! I want her gone now, and I don't want her ever to come back." She turned back to Hermione, who was shaking with her own rage, and she said, "You deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to you, because you are bad! You are evil! You and your magic! I thank the stars above that my husband's first grandchild was not born to you! I am glad you miscarried your baby! My only regret is that your mother didn't miscarry you!"

An electric static shot through the room, appalling everyone with Monica's words. Everyone took a step back as the two women faced each other. At that exact moment, Monica swung her arm back and slapped Hermione right across the face.


	12. After the Slap

**all characters belong to JKR  
**  
**Chapter 12 – After the Slap:****  
**  
The sound of Monica's hand hitting Hermione's face reverberated throughout the room. Not only did it shock Hermione's father and brothers, but also it cut Draco to the quick. Out of instinct, he pulled out his wand.

Hermione walked up to Monica, and with a calm that was almost eerie, she said, "Don't ever say anything about my mother or my baby, you cold hearted, evil woman. You think I'm evil? I'll tell you what's evil! Evil is a woman who would totally ignore a little four-year-old girl, because she blamed that little girl for her husband's misdeeds! Evil is a woman who would pinch a child under the table, because she laughed when her brother spilled milk out of his nose. Evil is a woman who would tell her husband in the presence of a child that she was glad that child's mother died and it was too bad the child was still alive! Evil is a woman who made that child feel like she didn't belong, even though she did!"

"You know what, you miserable excuse for a human being? You could have been a mother to me! When my mother died, all I wanted was some love and compassion! I would have grown to love you, and you might have loved me, that's all I ever wanted! However, you let hate twist your heart, into a cold, black, shriveled, evil mass. You aren't capable of love. You don't love your husband, you don't love your sons, and I doubt you even love yourself!"

Hermione continued and said, "I remember when I was young, and I would be in another room, and I would hear you talking to one of your sisters, and you knew full well that I was in the other room and could hear you. You would say terrible things about my mother and me, and I remember crying, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me."

"Many things make sense now, Monica, for I know now that you must have known about my magic for a while, which explains why you've always told your family that I was 'different' and that I was my father's biggest mistake. I always wanted to stand up for myself, or have Dad, Martin, or even Michael stand up for me. I've endured hell from you for the mere fact that I exist, for far too long. I have endured the way you have treated me, and I will not put up with it any longer! I will not! I have stood up to worse enemies than you, and shown more courage than I knew I possessed, so I won't ever let you treat me that way again. I can't."

"Before, I was always too afraid to fight back, because I thought if I stood up for myself, I would lose my family. I always knew I deserved better, but sometimes, just because your head knows something, you heart may not believe it's true."

She turned to Draco and said, "May I spend the rest of my time here at your house?"

"Of course," he said humbly. He twirled his wand in his hand, if for no other reason, than for affect.

Richard stepped up to Monica, who had her hands up to her face, almost as if Hermione had slapped her, and he said, "You've punished me long enough for what I've done. You've punished Hermione as well. I won't have it any longer. If anyone leaves this house tonight, it will be you, not her. I shouldn't have let you treat her the way you did all those years, and that will be my sin to account for some day, but I tell you Monica, it ends right here, right now."

Monica turned to Hermione, ignoring her husband's words, and said, "I mean it! LEAVE MY HOUSE!"

"MONICA!" Richard yelled. He had never yelled at his wife before.

Martin came between his parents, but instead of addressing either of them, he turned to Hermione, who was ashen and pale, and shaking visibly, and as he held both of her hands, he said, "I knew Hermione. I knew how mean they both were to you. I saw how she treated you, and how he let it happen, I stood by and did nothing, and that makes me as guilty as them. I was eight years older than you were, old enough to know better, old enough to protect you. I know I've already asked your forgiveness the other night, but right now, I want to tell you once more, in front of them all, just how sorry I am."

He turned to his mother and said, "Mother, I'm in love. You know her, she's the nurse at our practice, Maureen, and I'm going to marry her. She has a nine-year-old daughter, and she was never married to the girl's father, but that doesn't matter to me, because I love her as if she was my own child, and I'm going to be the best father to that little girl that I can be. Hermione's right, if you had opened your heart, just a bit, we all could have been a family. Hermione would have been your daughter. She would have belonged here. However, you aren't capable of loving. I don't know why, but I know I no longer care."

Monica was barely breathing. Martin turned back to Hermione and said, "I think one of the Grangers should go back out to the party, and anyway, I want to announce my engagement to our guests." He turned to his father, who shook his hand. He addressed his mother one last time, "Mother, it's not too late. Don't lose your family because of your hate and jealousy." He shook Draco's hand, then Michael's, and he left the room.

Monica fell back on a chair, and began to cry. "I can't help it. I hate her, and nothing will change that. She's a mistake, an abomination, and I can't be in the same house with her." She looked up at her husband and said, "You promised me, after your affair with her mother, that you had made your choice, and you chose me. You can't change your mind now; you can't go back on your promise."

He crouched down by her chair and said, "Monica, I did choose you over Hermione's mother, but I never once said I would choose you over my child. I never put Hermione as part of the equation. I'm tired of paying for my mistakes. How long must I pay? And you know what? I don't even view falling in love with a beautiful, vibrant, loving woman, and the child that resulted from that, as a mistake."

"My cheating on you was wrong, but that's all. You do what you have to do, and from now on, I'll do what I have to do. Right now, I have to get back out to my guests. If you come back out, I'll know that you've decided to stay, but know this, if you stay, you accept my family as it is." He touched his wife's face and added, "I always loved you, but that was never enough for you, so maybe you should take some accountability as well." He also left the room.

Her father's words to his wife meant more to Hermione than he would ever know. Not only did he regret the fact that she was never made to belong, but also most importantly, he DID NOT regret loving her mother, or the fact that she was the result of that love. Hermione knew she didn't want to be the last one in the room with Monica, but she didn't have to worry. Michael took his mother's hand and said, "Let me take you upstairs for a moment, Mother." He turned back to Hermione and said, "Sorry. I love you, and I agree with Father and Martin, but she's my mother and she needs me." Hermione understood. She nodded her agreement. The woman did need someone. She must be very sad and alone right now. Hermione's heart wasn't cold and hard like Monica's heart. She still could have empathy, even for her enemies.

Once everyone had left the room, and Hermione and Draco were alone, she collapsed on the settee, and started to cry as she rocked back and forth. The severity of everything that had happened that afternoon hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt she was about to crack under the pressure. There was so much she had wanted to say to Draco, but now, she couldn't even process words or thoughts. He sat beside her, but he didn't know what to do for her. He had so much he wanted to say, but words seemed inadequate.

She turned to him, as if begging for comfort, and he put his arms around her. He hated Monica. Not only had she treated Hermione horrible all her life, but also she had just ruined his 'reunion' with the woman he loved. He rocked her back and forth. Finally, as her sobs lessened, and her breathing became less broken, she spoke. "I wanted to ask you so many things, but do you mind if we put this on the back burner, just for now? Because, my truth to you right now, Draco, is if I have to deal with one more unpleasant thing at the moment, I will crack literally in two."

"Let's go back out to the picnic," he urged.

"Oh, no, I can't ever go back out there," she said. "They're all bound to be talking about this."

"Who cares? You told that girl out there that no one could make you feel bad about yourself if you didn't let them, well, don't let them. I don't know about you, but I have faced worse nightmares in my life than that lot out there, and well, actually, I do know about you, and I know you have as well. I'm tired, Hermione. I'm tired of not being with you, and if the only way I can be with you, is at some stupid picnic full of stupid Muggles, I'll take it."

Hermione turned to look at him and said, "I'm tired as well, Draco, but I'm tired of feeling like this. I can't be more than your friend right now. I can't. I cannot face my own guilt. I know I don't want to end up bitter and sad like my father and Monica, so I promise you, I'll tell you everything soon. After I tell you what happened the night I went to meet you, because I really did go to meet you, but after that, if we both still want to be more than friends, we can. Right now, in this moment, I just need a friend."

"I don't want to be your friend only, Hermione. I don't want that, I can't have that, but for now, and only for now, I'll concede." He stood up and brought her into his embrace. He stroked her hair, as if she was a frightened child. In many ways, emotionally, she was a child. Her emotional growth, as far as this family went, was stunted, and she was forever a child. He reassured her by adding, "Nothing you tell me can be so bad that I won't forgive you."

"No, I'm not afraid that you won't forgive me, Draco," she started, holding onto his forearms, her head on his chest. "I'm afraid I'll never be able to forgive myself, and I'm afraid that you won't be able to forgive yourself, after that."

That statement made no sense to Draco, but it worried him to no end. Without another word to her, he put his hands on her cheeks, and with his thumbs, he brushed away her tears. He bent his head forward, intending to finally get his kiss, but remembering his vow from five seconds ago, that he would be her friend for now, he kissed her cheeks instead, first her right one, and then her left. The taste of her salty tears lingered on his lips.

"I need to go up to the attic before we head outside, okay?" she said. She was no longer crying. Perhaps her outburst to Monica was cathartic. Perhaps it was just what she needed, and it came at exactly the right time.

Hermione trotted up the stairs, with Draco behind her. He started up the attic stairs, when she put her hand out on his chest to stop him. She said, "Wait for me here in the upstairs hallway. I'll be right down." She climbed the last staircase by herself. She went to her room, opened her suitcase, and took out one of the letters that he sent her, so long ago. She berated herself, for saying 'he' in her own mind. She would have to program herself to say, 'Draco'. She took out the letter, sat on her bed, and read it, for perhaps the one hundredth time. It suddenly made more sense to her.

* * *

_My Dearest Friend, Hermione,_

_You tell me that you wish your life were different, well I always have the same wish. If I could only have one wish tonight, it would be to write you a great poem, or a love song or sonnet, so I could better express how I feel for you, and perhaps that would change your life. Something beautiful that would bring even men to tears, something great beyond compare. If I only had one wish tonight._

_Some men seem to die within themselves, never letting their spirits live. Others seem to kill the hearts of the masses, swaying them with their masterpieces, while others are afraid even to speak. That was I. I was afraid to speak, to let people know the real me, and in the end, I paid for that, and so did you._

_Despite my fears, worries, and regrets, you have helped me to carry on. Despite my woes, I will survive, because of your tragedy, and the horrors, which were inflicted on you; it has made it easier for me to give a part of myself to you. I am forever in your debt._

_Take care of your happiness, because for some, happiness comes easy, and to others, like you and I, my love, it may just come once, and to let it slip between our hands would be the biggest crime we could ever commit. It would be the greatest crime of all time. Take care of your sorrow, and don't let it consume your soul. Most of all don't let people know they have power over you, for they don't really, we only image that they do._

_I know this seems strange, but I have wanted to say this since the second time I wrote to you, but I love you._

_I am forever yours_

_Your Friend_

* * *

Hermione read the letter through twice, and thought it was never closer to its mark than it was tonight. She folded the letter back up and decided to go back downstairs. Why use this letter as a surrogate, when her friend was downstairs, flesh, and blood, and finally within reach.


	13. The Letters

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 13: The Letters:**

* * *

Draco's First Letter to Hermione:

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_This letter is difficult to write, and I'm sure it will be even more difficult to read. First, let me start by telling you that I cannot reveal who I am. No, that's a lie, I don't want to reveal who I am, and there is a difference. I was on the wrong side of a wrong war, and I hated every minute of it, but I did nothing to change it._

_The purpose of this letter is for me to apologize for everything I've ever done to you. You may think that will be difficult, if I don't tell you who I am. I regret to say, that it will probably by quite easy. _

_I have lived my life in disguise, so I'm afraid that even I no longer know who I am. Can anyone ever love me, if they do not know who I am? Can you forgive me if you do not know who I am? Just imagine I am one of many, yet one of few. There are so many crimes that I am guilty of, and you yourself have felt pain inflicted by my own hand, well if not by my hand, by my words and the hands of others in my presence. I used to think that I was so above you and your kind, but I am not. I really am not._

_It makes no difference if you believe me, but I have changed, and I seek your forgiveness. Let my retribution be your reward. The few who are lucky enough to say they have no regrets in this life, well, let's just say I envy them. My life is full of regrets._

_I have brought people to their knees. I have put them down to tear them apart. There was a storm brewing inside of me for so long, which has left me a broken-hearted man. I always thought there was no hope for the weak and the abused, but now I know there's no hope for their abusers._

_This is vague, I know, but more specific than I even thought. Please, even if you tear this letter up, throw it away, and never tell me that you forgive me, at least for your own heart, forgive the man I was. I am no longer he. If you can forgive me, than write to me and tell me that. You only need to address the letter to 'my friend' and I assure you I will receive it. If I don't hear from you, I understand. If I do, Thank You._

_Sincerely, a new man, _

_Your New Friend_

* * *

Hermione's first letter to Draco:

* * *

**Dear Friend,**

**I received your letter, and I have to admit, I am intrigued. Let me start by saying that even though I do not know who you are, I forgive you. I too have done things that I am not proud of, and for me to ever judge another person, well, that would be wrong.**

**Everyone needs a lifeline, a path to redemption, and if I can be yours, then I will. Our paths in life have apparently crossed at some point, and it takes a big man to admit he is sorry, and to own up to his mistakes and regrets. Do me a favour, cut your regrets away with an invisible knife, burn the edges of your mistakes, cauterize the wounds, regain your perception, and heal thyself.**

**Let us both seek the balance that comes when two minds meet. Our souls, at best, are instruments praying for peace, seeking forgiveness.**

**While the naked fight journeys onward, bare for everyone to see, let us bless the void with our destiny, our fates, and our love.**

**So many teardrops have fallen from my eyes, late at night, while I tried to buy the lies that have been fed to me. I tried in vain to catch some faith in my defeat, but my faith is wasted, so I run scared, and I try to find peace the only way I know how, by sleeping through my life, walking numb through my abandonment.**

**You swore you were seeking forgiveness, and you desperately seek peace, well, let me tell you friend, you must forgive yourself first, and peace will come. We all try desperately to dance through the darkness, hoping in vain, waiting in vain, for some love to touch our dark hearts. Sometimes people hurt so bad that they die, but not us. We are stronger than our pain. We talk about sorrow, but we will not let it go, but time, after time, after time, we are forced to make a decision, confess to our sins, or lose ourselves forever.**

**I forgive you. I hope this helped. If you want, you can write to me again. You know who I am, but I won't ask you to reveal yourself to me, at least, not by name, but you may reveal your heart, your pain, and your hurt. I know all of those too well.**

**Until the next time, I hope, Your Friend,**

**Hermione**

* * *

The letter Hermione received from Draco, when she finally knew she loved him:

* * *

_To My Best Friend, Hermione,_

_Sometimes I wonder what life is all about, the dreaming, the laughing, the wondering, the remembering. But I cannot remember without a certain sadness. It is so deep in my heart that I know I will never be rid of it._

_I wonder about the ignorance of people, and about my own ignorance. No one knows all the answers, although there are plenty of people who think they know._

_I dream about all the beautiful people that I have yet to meet, about everyone whom I love, but really hate, and hate, but really love. I dream about loving you._

_I dream about all the things I do and still regret, and regret but still do._

_The laughter comes last. I hardly know the laughter. It is like a deep dark secret filling my mind, body and soul with its confusion._

_Sometimes I wish life were different. Sometimes I wish life were not what you see, but what you want it to be. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if it all stopped, but only sometimes. Most of the time, I only want someone to love._

_Love, Your Friend_

* * *

The letter Hermione wrote to Draco, when he finally realized he loved her:

* * *

**My Dearest Friend,**

**If I could just go to sleep and forget it all, and could believe nothing would hurt me, I would die a perfect death. I dream of a life in an ideal place, as if that could change things somehow.**

**Our life apart is not really living. The darkness that is in my heart, and home, and soul, shows me that. And the darkness in you brings out the light in me. I'm done playing make believe. I'm ready to live again.**

**I'm still not sure what we have between us, I read your words, I feel your pain, I imagine your love, but then I start to cry, for none of it is real. Is there anyone out there who could love either of us just the way we are? Or are we destine to live our lives devoid of love and understanding?**

**Time to put our hurt feelings on a shelf, store them there for all time, and realize there is nothing else we could have done.**

**The journey home is never straight; it bends with curves and slopes, making our way harder. I imagine your arms around me, and I can feel peace within. With your eyes upon me, I know I can continue to live. With your candle burning brightly, I can see the truth, with the road we have both taken; we can reach the redemptions we seek.**

**Goodbye my friend, dare I say, Goodbye my love?**

**Hermione**

* * *

The letter Draco wrote, where he professed his love, and asked to meet her:

* * *

_Hermione, my love,_

_I start this letter with a request. Keep an open mind, and if it's to be, it will be. First, I have to tell you not to turn away from me, and don't be afraid. I'm just trying to touch you, and show you my love and gratitude._

_I want to look upon your eyes, to see if the love I feel for you is returned, unless love is not enough, but I suspect it is. You tell me you are not happy in your marriage, well, I ask you dear love, don't we all deserve happiness?_

_My arms are cold, like stone, aching to hold you. Are you afraid of me? Are you afraid of what I might turn out to be? For I promise you, I could never hurt you. I would sooner cut out my own heart, and bleed alone by myself, than ever hurt you again._

_Your blood flowing will wash away my sins. And no one else can ever know the real you, the course of your life, it fades and reappears, and all we can do is anticipate the outcome, and capture happiness, rejoice in our defeats, cherish and bestow love when we can._

_Listen to my request, and do not turn away. You never know, I might say something to you that you want to hear. My love is not a price to pay, not a burden, nothing that will cause you pain or harm. I offer it to you freely, even if it's not returned._

_Meet me, my love. I need to see you, if only to tell you goodbye. If you want to say hello instead, meet me still, and we can finally find out if what we feel is real or just romantic words on a page._

_If someone tells you 'no', tell them yes. They don't know you, they cannot tell you what to do. People cannot stand in our way. Believe me when I say that it's not the end of the world, and the sky is not falling, it's just someday you might regret not meeting me in person, and regret not loving me for real._

_If you cannot meet me, don't even write me back, but know this, I cannot write you again if you don't meet me. It's not an ultimatum. No, I guess it is. It's just that it would be too painful to keep writing to you, and to never get to hold you, kiss you, love you like I want to. _

_Take care of your life, and don't do it harm, because we both know how easily your life can be taken away from you. _

_I love you. I really do. Nothing will change that. Write me your answer. If you write me and tell me goodbye, then goodbye. If you write me and tell me you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you, then I will tell you the time and place._

_Yours and only yours forever,_

_More than your Friend_

* * *

Hermione's answer to Draco's letter:

* * *

**My love,**

**On my wedding day, all my friends told me that my husband and I made such a good pair. I heard them say that we were perfect for each other, but no one said anything about love. I did not love him as much as he deserved, and he did not love me as much as I needed.**

**But, I love you, and I hope I love you as much as you deserve, and I hope you love me as much as I need.**

**'Till death do us part' is a lie. Because when caring and loyalty replaces love, a marriage is a lie. Nevertheless, I know I will love you until the day I die, and I cannot make it through another day without you. I have only ever lived my life for others, and for once, I want to be selfish, I need to be selfish, and live my life for me.**

**After you meet me, you may change your mind and not want to be with me, and that will be all right. I'll try to understand. There's still so much about me you do not know, so much I have withheld, but when I finally see you, I will tell you everything, I promise.****  
**

**  
****My life has felt worthless and cold for so long. My heart has been vacant, but finally, it's filled, and it's filled with love for a man whom I have never met, and I don't even know his name. It does not matter, because I still love you.**

**I can't face my life without you.**

**Write to me; tell me where you want to meet, and if you want me forever, and only forever, then I will meet you. Just tell me where and when, and I promise to be there.**

**Love forever,**

**Hermione**

* * *

Draco's last letter to Hermione, before they were to meet:

* * *

_My one and only,_

_Love, mild like sleep, severe like a storm, always young and different, never what it seems. Love, surrounds me like a fog, fills my eyes, my heart, and my soul. Touches my mind with its haunting song. Love, an illusion that always eluded me, but with you, is finally real. _

_Meet me on Saturday, at the park by the little school where you told me you attended when you were a child. 2:00 pm. I will be there. I know you will know who I am the moment you see me. You might be surprised to find out who I am, and find out that you are more familiar with me than you suspect, but keep in mind how much you love me, and how much I love you in return. No need to write me back. Just be there, please._

_I love you_

* * *

The letter Draco wrote after Hermione didn't meet him. She never received it, and it was returned to him. He still has it:

* * *

_Hermione, _

_When I think of how I lost you, sometimes I feel like I've lost myself, too. I swear each day that by tomorrow, I will feel better, but then tomorrow comes, and so does my pain, and I hurt all over again._

_I have cried when I am alone at night, and no one can hear me. I cannot even sleep anymore. I feel like a prisoner that was left alone to die. I don't mean to accuse you, but you have caused me more pain than I ever thought I would feel. I just want to die, because all I want to do is hold you tight and love you forever, and I now know that will never happen._

_The touch of your hand will always be a dream, and my lips will forever ache for your taste, but I will remember your face until it fades from my view as death claims me someday. I sometimes wonder if losing you was my punishment for all my sins. Why did I have to love you, only to lose you?_

_This heartache won't bring you back to me, and I know that you and I were probably never meant to be, and that will be my burden to bear._

_Every man must make up his own mind, to carry the load, or fall behind. I have done both, but I would not do both again. I will close my eyes from love for now and forever, and I will close my heart at well, because I can't stand this pain._

_I still love you. It would be easier if I hated you, but I've hated you before, and I've love you now, and believe me; love is easier, even if it hurts more._

_I don't even know how to close this letter. Goodbye just does not seem final enough; however, there is nothing else to say. _

_So, goodbye, your friend no longer_


	14. Draco Malfoy Gets His Kiss

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 14 –Draco Malfoy Gets his Kiss:**

Hermione folded Draco's letter and put it back in the pile with all the others. She always kept them with her, and she would read them when she felt sad or alone, or sometimes when she _wanted_ to feel sad and alone. It was a vicious cycle. She even had them memorized. That was why she knew she wanted to read this one in particular. She knew the words would help her heal. These letters had been her lifeline, her saving grace, for such a long time. She needed them. She needed him.

She knew she would have to face the fact that he was the man from her letters eventually, but she could not face it now. Somehow, deep inside, she always had an inkling that it was he. Or, more precisely, she had always hoped deep inside that it might be him, even before she had reconnected with him here. Every time he had mentioned falling in love with a woman, she had hoped he meant her. Hermione had hoped he would tell her the truth about the letters. She could only now admit as much.

She went to her bathroom, washed her face, brushed her hair, and opened her door. He was standing right outside. "Sorry, I knew you told me to wait on the landing, but I was worried," he said. "Really, I was looking out for your welfare, for you might have decided to borrow Potter's invisibility cloak, and sneak downstairs, and make the evil Monica gain something like two stones again. I couldn't let you do that, now could I?" he joked.

She gave him a look full of disdain, but when his smile neither faded nor faltered, she couldn't help but smile in return. "I really think I could come up with something better than that," she reasoned. "I might have decided to turn her hair pink."

"You monster," Draco said. He took her hand and they started downstairs.

"Maybe I would have made her nose hair grow really long, and she would have had to braid it or something, just to walk and not trip over it," she said.

"Thank the stars above you have me in your life now, for I can teach you how to be evil and vindictive. Those are my middle names," he said. "Nose hair, indeed."

"Your middle names are both Evil and Vindictive?" she asked.

"Yes, Evil after my dear old dad, and Vindictive after darling mother," he said. "What's your middle name?" he asked as they walked outside.

"Martha," she answered.

He actually laughed and said, "Boring. I was hoping for something like 'sex kitten' or the like. Martha?"

"I was named after my grandmother, Malfoy, my dead grandmother, who helped raise me," she said.

"Fine, make me feel bad for laughing at your name. I guess it is better than Hermione," he said. She shot him a look, but he was still smiling.

"My middle name is Jean, you dolt," she said. "I know I've told you that in one of my letters." She suddenly stopped walking. He did as well. She hadn't meant to mention the letters, not yet.

"I know, I recall. I was having a laugh. Nice to see you're at least capable of lying, even if it's only about your middle name. I was worried for a second that you had too many redeeming qualities for me," he said. He had noticed her slip as well, but he was not going to press her about it right now.

They walked over to the tent, and no one even seemed to notice them. He said, "See, no one is the wiser as to what occurred in the house."

"I'm sure," she answered, sarcastically. "Look at Martin," she said, as she nodded in the direction of Martin and Maureen. They were dancing, and what was more, they were dancing not as a couple, but as a family. Maureen's daughter Erin was standing with them, all three holding hands, swaying to the music.

"He'll be a wonderful father," Draco said. "Quite the accomplishment, since you all didn't have a wonderful father."

"He wasn't that bad," Hermione stated. She looked at her brother and his makeshift family, and then back to Draco. "It takes a big man to love another man's child, don't you think," she asked Draco.

"I suppose it does," he answered. He looked back at her.

"Could you have ever envisioned yourself loving another man's child?" she asked.

He thought she might be referring to her own child. He said, "If I loved the mother, I would love the child."

"Monica loved my father, in her own way, but she never loved me," Hermione pointed out, without sorrow or remorse. It was merely a statement of fact.

"Well, there's an exception to every rule, isn't there?" Draco concluded.

He led her to a quiet table near the edge of the opened tent. He sat down and pulled her to the seat next to him. He said, "I would have loved your child, Hermione. Is that why you didn't meet me? Was it because you were already pregnant? I mean, if my math is correct, I think you would have had to be pregnant since you lost it at eight months gestation. Did you not meet me because you thought I wouldn't love you because you were carrying another man's child? I would have. You should have given me the chance."

She felt tears brim her eyes again. She let go of his hand, and placed her hands in her lap. She looked down at her lap and said, "That has nothing to do with anything." She looked back at him and said, "And I am so tired of telling you this, so this will be the last time, but by all that is holy, I swear to you that I did go to meet you! I did." Her voice was soft, but her meaning firm. She looked back down at her lap. "Can we please not talk about this right now? Please, I beg you."

She was very close to leaving, in fact, she started to stand, but he put his hand on her elbow, and guided her back to her seat. "Sit down. I won't mention it again for now. I know I promised, but I had temporary insanity. It's over. I'm sane again. I'll be good, I promise. Don't be upset and don't cry. You cry entirely too much. You're close to being dehydrated I'm sure. Let me go get you something to drink."

He stood up and headed toward the barn. He really just wanted an excuse to leave her for a moment. He felt bad that he was rushing her, and causing her more distress, but he didn't know how much more he could stand. He had to know the truth. Moreover, her pain was almost more than he could bear. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, and make her complete again. She healed him, so he wanted to heal her.

He got something called a ginger ale for Hermione and a beer for himself and he started back over to the tent. He saw Michael and his mother coming out of the back door. He watched as they came right toward him. Michael gave him an embarrassed smile, and Monica gave him a death glare. Draco gave her his best smirk. The woman apparently didn't know to whom she was glaring. She didn't know whom she was dealing with, and why it might behoove her to look the other way before an accident befell her. She finally looked away, when it was apparent that Draco was not going to look elsewhere. Draco thought, 'that's right, you evil bitch, look away, look away.'

He walked back over to the tent in time to see Hermione walking across an open field, toward his own estate. He took a large drink of his beer, put both their drinks on a table, started after her, went back and got his beer, and followed her.

He didn't try to catch up to her. He just wanted to keep her in his line of vision, in case she disapparated away. She turned and started toward another field. He knew she was heading toward 'her spot'. He apparated there, so he would get there first.

He sat on the ground, by the creek, and began to drink his beer. She walked toward him, smiling. "I knew you were following me," she said.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked. "I arrived here first, you must have been following me."

"Whatever deluded dreams get you through the night is fine with me, Malfoy," she said. She sat down beside him, took off her shoes, and took the beer right from his hand. She took a swig, and passed it back. She said, "Did you see Michael and Monica? I saw them come out of the house."

"Yes, I saw them," he said. He drank the last of his beer and threw the bottle in the creek. "You know, my offer still stands, and you can stay at my place tonight."

She grinned at him, touched his sleeve and said, "I do think your bed is comfortable, remember?" She ran her hand up and down his shirtsleeve. She suddenly lay back on the ground, in the tall grass, and said, "I'm tired enough to sleep now."

He leaned over her, leaning on his elbow, and put his hand on her stomach. She flinched slightly, but he wasn't intimidated. He kept his hand in place. Her eyes shut, so he took the opportunity really to look at her. With every letter that he wrote, during their ten-month 'courtship', he dreamt of her, and moments like these. His hand came up from her stomach, to brush her cheek. Her eyes remained closed. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He had wanted to for so long. He promised he would be her friend, but did that mean they couldn't kiss?

He put his index finger on her lips. She parted them slightly under his pressure. Her lips were dry. He would do her a service, and wet them a bit. He leaned over, and with slight pressure, he kissed her, quickly, not wanting to break his promise to her.

She opened her eyes and said, "More please."

His breathing became faster. He could not believe his ears. He leaned over her again, this time, his left hand to the right of her body, holding him off her, and as he rested his body on his right arm, he kissed her again. This time, he pressed his lips to hers, keeping them slightly open, and he applied more pressure than before. He moved his lips slightly against hers. He raised his head after a mere moment. He opened his eyes at the same time she opened hers.

"More," she requested again.

"Are you sure?" He had to be sure.

"Please, more," she said. Her hands went to the front of his shirt, palms against the silky softness. He could feel their warmth against his skin, through the thin material. This time, he leaned over her, putting his weight on her, and he placed his lips firmly against hers. He applied more pressure than the first two times, and moved his lips over hers, sucking slightly, reaching out his tongue, to swipe at her bottom lip, before pulling it in his mouth. Her hands went from the front of his shirt, to his shoulders, then to his back. He couldn't contain his joy at finally kissing her lips, tasting her sweet nectar, drinking from her well. It was sweeter than he thought it would be.

Their lips lingered against each other. He didn't deepen the kiss as much as he would have liked, as he had dreamt of doing so many times, because he knew she was breakable. He lifted his head. The kiss lasted no more than twenty seconds, but it was the best twenty seconds of his life, and the best kiss he had ever received. He took another deep breath in, and watched as she opened her eyes. Her hand went to his face, and she smiled.

"I love you," he said to her. He did, so why not say it.

She took two short breaths in and said, "Draco, I, I don't, I mean, I do, but." He stopped her rambling with another short kiss.

"Shh," he hushed her, before kissing her quickly once more. "Hey, friends can love each other right? We're taking things slowly, like you wanted. I'm your friend, you're mine, and I said I love you, but as a friend."

She sat up, and put her hand up to her mouth, almost as if hiding her lips. "As a friend?" she asked.

"For now," he said. "You love your friends, don't you?" He sat up as well, and brought his knees up to his chest. He parted his legs and reached between them to pull a blade of grass.

"I love my friends," she repeated. "I don't kiss them like that, but I love them."

"So, I'm your friend, and that means, what?" he asked, without looking at her. He just needed her to confirm that she still loved him. She had told him that in more than one letter, so why couldn't she say it aloud? He needed her to say it more than he needed oxygen. Say it, say it, he chanted in his head.

She got up on her knees, and pulled the long blade of grass from his fingers. He looked at her as she playfully moved the blade of grass against his cheek, then his forehead. She threw it over her shoulder and said, "I love you, too, Draco." She stood up, hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and slipped her shoes back on her feet. She turned away, finding something in a far off field suddenly very interesting. He grinned; he couldn't help it, and came to stand beside her.

He said, "What are you looking at over there?" He could hardly wait for her response.

"Oh, nothing really," she said. She turned around and ran right into him. He put his hands on her arms.

"Steady there," he said. "Did that one drink of beer make you lightheaded, or maybe it was my awesome kissing ability."

"I don't think it's either, it's probably the fact that you were standing so close, although the little kiss was nice," she said. She looked back at the ground. He bent his head down, forcing her to look in his eyes. His hands were still holding her arms.

"Nice?" he asked, as if it were a dirty word. "I can do better, you know, but I was taking it slow. You said you weren't ready for more, but I can do better, let me show you." He was joking.

She started laughing and broke from his grasp. She started to run from him and said, "Draco wants to prove he's a good kisser!"

He ran after her, and they ran around in circles. He reached out for her finally, and grabbed her arm. He pulled her to him and put both arms around her waist. Her back was to his chest. He put his mouth next to her ear and said, "Shall I prove I'm a good kisser?"

She kept laughing, and didn't notice when he straightened up suddenly. He let go of her waist, and she turned to face him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He grabbed her suddenly; his right hand on her neck, his left tight around her waist. "I don't want to play games. Do you still love me; really love me, more than a friend?"

"I told you I did," she said, with a hitch in her voice.

"That was a game, I mean really, do you?" he asked.

She shook her head, and he thought that meant no, so he started to let her go, when she threw her arms around his neck and jumped up. He put his arms tight around her waist, and lifted her feet from the ground. She buried her face in his neck and said, "I do love you, I do." He held her for a long time, just like that; her feet off the ground, and her body pressed tightly against his, their arms around each other.

When he finally set her feet down, he touched her face. "Everything else will fall into place, then, I promise. Let's get back. I don't think I can be out here, alone with you right now, and not make love to you, do you understand?"

"I understand, and that means friendship isn't enough for you, right?" she asked.

"It means we have been more than friends for a long time, so I'm not going backwards, so let's take things as they come, and handle things the best we can, and go from there. Come on, Granger, let's get back." He took her hand and they started back to the party, both as confused as they were before, as to where their relationship was, but at least Draco Malfoy finally got his kiss.

They started back to the party, walking far part, but even with each other. When the house finally came in view, she said, "Do we have to go back, really?"

He looked at his watch, "It's only 5:00 pm, Granger, and I'd like something to eat. What do you propose we do? It's too early for bed." He kicked at the ground with his feet.

"Just say you'll be there with me, please," she asked.

"You crazy, crazy, girl. I'm never letting your out of my sight again," he said. He took her hand and ran with her back to the party.


	15. Monica and Civil Do Not Mix

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 15 – Monica and Civil Do Not Mix:**

Walking back to the party, Draco remained far away from Hermione. Once the house was in view, he ran to catch up with her, and took her hand once more. They walked back just as Hermione's father was up at the Grandstand, making another announcement. Hermione was afraid what this one entailed; however, she had no reason to worry. He was offering the owner of the dairy a rather large donation, to help pay for repairs caused by the fire. Hermione noticed that Monica was by his side, smiling. She was the consummate actor. This was always how she appeared to the outside world: lovely, smiling, pleasant. Hermione knew the other side of her: ugly, hostile, malicious.

When Hermione was young, she thought Monica was beautiful. She always envied her. How could she ever have thought that? To be truly beautiful, a person had to be beautiful on the inside first. Draco noticed that Hermione had stopped walking. He could tell she was reflecting. Richard Granger ended his speech by telling everyone that his bequeath was in the name of his daughter Hermione. Everyone started applauding. Draco clapped exact three times, with contempt. Hermione noticed Draco's feeble applause; she even agreed with it, however, Hermione did not clap at all.

Draco thought that even though Richard Granger finally stood up to his wife, it was too little, too late. The psychological scars on Hermione would never heal, and that was more Richard Granger's fault, than his wife's fault. Draco thought of the old adage that went, 'Physician, heal thyself', and he thought that Richard's donation to the dairy, in the name of his daughter, was his way of atonement. Draco could not help himself; he said aloud what he had merely thought only moments before. "It's a little too little, and a little too late."

Hermione nodded her agreement to his assessment.

"Food, Granger, I must have some food," he said. He grabbed some wine from a passing waiter, took a drink, and added, "I'll grab us some plates, you grab us a table."

Hermione started toward an empty table, when Martin called over to her. He was sitting at a large table, near the front of the tent, with his fiancée and her daughter. Hermione decided to join them. Her back was to the crowd outside, so she didn't notice her father and Monica as they walked over with plates and drinks, intent to join them also. She turned when she saw a hand pull out the chair next to hers. Her father sat next to her, his wife to his other side. Inside, Hermione cringed. She looked over her shoulder, to see if she could see Draco.

Martin introduced Hermione to his future wife and daughter. Hermione smiled at them and shook their hands. He introduced them to his mother next. She was all smiles. It made Hermione want to gag. Monica told the little girl Erin that her dress was pretty. Hermione wanted to grab the girl and whisk her far away, where Monica's poison couldn't harm her. She wondered if Monica would be nice to the little girl in public, the way she was to Hermione when she was young, and then ghastly to her in private.

Martin told his mother that he and Maureen planned to marry in a civil ceremony the next month. He also told his parents he was planning to adopt Erin. Hermione immediately looked over at Monica. The older woman's jaw clenched, and she visibly flinched. Outwardly, she smiled. Hermione knew that the thought of some other man's 'bastard' child having the Granger name was eating away at Monica's already black heart. She would never accept this little girl as a grandchild. She didn't even want her own husband's bastard child to have the last name Granger.

Hermione looked over her shoulder again. Where in the world was Draco?

Draco was leaving the barn with two plates, two drinks, and two table settings teetering in his hands. Michael walked up to him, took one of the plates in his hand, as he had his own in the other, and said, "The family's sitting over there, Malfoy." Draco saw that the family was indeed all sitting at one large table, like one big happy family, at the front of the tent. Hermione looked over her shoulder nervously. She still didn't see Michael and Draco, as they were entering from the other end of the tent. He was sure that Hermione wasn't happy to be sitting with Monica.

As if reading his mind, Michael said, "My mother has agreed to be civil. She'll no longer treat Hermione as an outsider, I promise. She knows she's liable to lose her whole family if she does."

Draco didn't buy it for one second. Monica and 'civil' simply did not mix. They were incompatible, an oxymoron, a paradox, a contradiction in terms. Draco sat beside Hermione, scaring her apparently, as she jumped out of her seat. He set her drink down, as Michael placed her plate in front of her, before he went to sit beside his mother.

Hermione remained standing, leaned down to Draco, and whispered in his ear, "Let's go to a different table."

"No," he said back, quietly. He looked at her and said loudly, "Were you a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?" Suddenly, everyone at the table looked at them. She sat down.

The little girl Erin said, "That's a funny word, Hufflepuff. What does it mean?"

Hermione was fairly certain her father and Monica, and perhaps even Martin knew to what they were referring. Michael didn't seem to have a clue. Draco looked at the little girl and said, "It's a funny word meaning, weak, pathetic, puny and pitiful."

Hermione gave Draco a dirty look. Erin asked, "What did that other word mean? Gryffindorf?"

"It was Gryffindork, my dear," Draco corrected.

"Gryffindor," Hermione corrected him, "And it means brave, honest and true. Hufflepuff stood for hardworking, steadfast and loyal. They are really just names of the dorms from the boarding school Draco and I attended when we were children."

"Were you in Gryffindor?" Erin asked Draco. All eyes turned to him. Hermione laughed and Draco glared at her.

"Certainly not, I was in the best 'dorm', as Hermione calls it, at the whole school, although we called them houses. I was in Slytherin House," Draco said proudly.

"What did that stand for?" Maureen asked, as interested as her daughter.

Before Draco could answer, Hermione said, "It means devious, underhanded, deceitful and sneaky."

Draco took a large bite of his sandwich and nodded his head. As soon as he could talk he said, "That about covers it correctly, thank you, Granger."

"Were there any other houses?" Erin asked.

"The last house was Ravenclaw, and it stood for intelligence, astuteness, and cleverness," Hermione answered.

"Is that what house you were in, Hermione?" her brother Michael asked.

"She was in Gryffindor, brave and true," her father said, beaming. Hermione smiled back at him. Monica looked on with disdain.

Erin looked up at her mother and said, "Can I go to that school someday, Mummy?"

Monica expelled one short, clip, little laugh, and said, "We all hope not."

Hermione looked down at her plate again. Draco said, "So much for civil," and continued to eat. Richard glowered at Draco and then at Monica.

Hermione began to pick at her food, and her father asked, "Where did you two run off to earlier?" He looked to Draco to answer, nevertheless, Hermione answered.

"We took a walk," Hermione said.

Richard turned to his daughter and said, "I was afraid you had taken your things to Draco's house. Darling, Monica and I have talked, and we would both like you to continue to stay here, so there's no reason for you to stay at Draco's house for the rest of your visit."

Hermione looked at her father, back at Draco, and said, "Whatever you'd like, Dad."

"Gryffindor," Draco said, reminding her of her former backbone. He thought that was enough said. Hermione started eating again, so just in case she didn't hear him when he screamed 'Gryffindor' he kicked her, hard, under the table.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Hermione barked, rubbing her shin.

"There are children at the table, Granger, language," he demised.

Michael laughed and said, "We'll take care of that, Malfoy, we children will leave. Erin, do you want to go ride the ponies?" Erin said yes, and Michael took her away from the table. Martin leaned over to his future wife, and asked her if she minded going with them. She smiled and left as well.

Draco pointed his fork at Hermione and said, "You really should have been in Hufflepuff."

Monica leaned forward and said, "Can we please stop talking about your freak school, someone might hear."

Draco leaned back, put his feet on the table, and started singing the Hogwarts song. Loudly. Everyone from neighbouring tables turned to watch him. Martin laughed, Monica hid her head, Richard glared, and Hermione finally stood, put her hand over Draco's mouth and said, "Dad, I think what Draco's trying to say, or rather sing, quite loudly, and off tune, is that I prefer to spend the rest of my holiday with him."

Draco kissed her hand, after she removed it from his mouth, and said, "Yes, that's what I meant."

Richard leaned forward and said, "But, Sweetheart, I'm not sure that's a very good idea. It may not look good, since you're recently divorced. This is a small community, you know."

Draco stared at Richard, but before he could say anything, Hermione said, "I'm not sure you are the epitome of morals, Dad, seeing how you had an affair with a twenty- year-old girl, while you were married. Did you ever tell you wife that my mother didn't know you were married? You never told Monica that did you?" Hermione leaned over her father and said to Monica, "My mother didn't know he was married until after the summer was over, when he was telling her goodbye. I wanted you to know who was culpable, and who wasn't."

Draco thought, 'Bravo'.

Her father looked hurt, and then angry, and said, "That's neither here nor there. We aren't talking about your mother or me. I don't think you should stay with an unmarried man, with your divorce so new. I know you have nothing to be ashamed of, but let's keep it that way."

"Everyone already thinks poorly of me, so why should I care?" Hermione asked.

Martin said, "That's not true, Hermione."

"Oh, let her stay with him. At this point, who cares?" Monica said with spite.

Hermione threw her napkin on her plate and said, "For once, Monica, you're right. Who cares at this point? You've already vilified me to your community, your friends, your family, I'm sure no one can think less of me than they already do." She turned to her father and said, "Draco is my friend. We've had a special relationship for a while now. Another one of my secrets, I'm afraid. And to put the cherry on top, I fell in love with him while I was still married to Roger. I guess like father, like daughter. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Richard Granger looked like his daughter had slapped him. Monica took that moment to say, "So that explains why Roger left you. You were having an affair with Draco Malfoy. You are a whore like your mother." She thought someone ought to tell Roger the truth. Perhaps she would.

"Is that civil, Father?" Hermione asked, looking at her dad. She stood up, leaned on the table, so no one at surrounding tables could hear, and said, "Monica, call me whatever you'd like, I don't care, but if you ever call my mother another name, I'll let Draco show you why he was in Slytherin house. I might even let him tell you all about what a Death Eater was."

Draco stood as well and said, "And it might be prudent to tell you that Hermione and I have never slept together, so even though she doesn't mind you calling her names, I do. Call her another name, ever, and live to regret it." He looked at Dr. Granger and said, "Hermione and I started a friendship, only a friendship, while she was married. It developed into love, but never anything physical. I hadn't even seen her for a long time until this week. Believe the worse of me if you will, I'm used to that, but give your daughter the credit she's owed."

Draco started to walk away, but strolled back. He said, "I'm going up to your room, Hermione. I'm collecting your things. You will not stay another night in this house with that woman, or that man. I'll apparate your things to my house, and then I'll come back here and we can walk away, heads held high, like respectable little Muggles." He stormed in the house.

Monica turned to Richard and said, "Are you going to let that man threaten me and talk to me like that at my own house."

Richard stood up, said, "Yes," and he walked away, upset.

Monica looked at Hermione and started to say something, but Martin stood up suddenly, grabbed Hermione's arm, and led her to the stables, to find his fiancée and her daughter.

Hermione looked at her brother and said, "You do believe Draco don't you? I have never slept with him."

He kissed her cheek and said, "Yes, I believe you, and I think Dad did as well. Mother cannot change overnight you know, and it was folly for Dad to think that she could. I don't think she'll ever change."

Hermione took her brother's hand, and looked over at Erin as she laughed up on a pony, inside a fenced-in pin. Michael and the little girl's mother were on the other side of the fence, laughing and pointing. Hermione said, "Martin, promise me one thing."

"Anything," he said. He reached up to her hair, and brushed it out of her face.

"I mean this, it's the most important thing you could ever promise me, and it's twofold, so I guess, you'll be promising me two things, if you agree," she said seriously.

"I swear, I'll promise you anything, what is it?" he asked.

She took both his hands, turned to face him and said, "Don't ever, and I mean, ever, let Monica poison that little girl's childhood. Don't let her alone with her, don't let her talk to her, don't let her influence her. Please. Second, love that little girl as if she's your own; treat her with love and respect, and most of all, kindness. You said your biggest regret is that you didn't protect me growing up. I will absolve you of all your 'so called' sins, if you promise me to protect her, like you never protected me."

Martin had never seen his sister so obsessed about anything before. "I promise you, I do, but you must repay me in kind. I need a promise from you. Will you promise me something?"

"What?" she said softly, half-afraid of what he would ask.

He smiled, grabbed her in a hug, and said, "My request is twofold, as well. First, promise me you'll tell me all about your life, magical and otherwise, before you leave here today. I don't care if it takes four hours. I finally want to know my sister. Two, be happy. Just be happy. If Malfoy makes you as happy as Maureen and Erin makes me, I know you'll be okay."

Hermione began to cry. She hugged Martin around the waist. Michael looked over at them, excused himself from Maureen, and joined them. Martin said to Michael, "Go ask Maureen to let Draco know that you, I, and Hermione all have to have a talk. Then, meet Hermione and me at my house. Fifteen minutes, okay?"

Michael nodded, and said, "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"I will be," she said.

"Let's go to my house, Hermione," Martin said, taking her hand. They walked across the field.

She said, "Hey, once we get over the hill, and if no one's looking, I could take you there my way, if you think you can stomach it."

"You mean apparate?" he asked.

"Martin, how do you know what it's called?" she asked, pinching his cheek as they walked.

"I know more than you think. Let's apparate."

Michael told Maureen that the Granger siblings needed some alone time, and could she please tell Draco and their dad. She agreed. Michael ran to catch up with his brother and sister.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was up in Hermione's little attic bedroom, gathering all of her belongings. He found a large suitcase on top of her wardrobe. He threw it on the bed and pulled all the clothes out of the closet and her dresser drawers. Her taste in clothing was dubious, at best. He frowned when he saw her boring clothing. He stopped to look at her lingerie. He laughed and said, "Time for prettier under things, Granger. I shall take you shopping again, for all new clothing." He didn't bother folding anything. He threw everything in together. Not everything fit in one suitcase. He was sure he had seen another suitcase somewhere.

He went to the bathroom and gathered her toiletries. He threw them on the bed. He just remembered where he had seen her other suitcase. The day she kicked his clothing under the bed, he saw it. It was under the bed. He leaned down, pulled it out, and opened it up. There was nothing inside, except for a bundle of letters, tied with a red ribbon, which he immediately recognized. It was his letters to her. She had them with her. He was caught off guard. He sat on the floor, and leafed through the edges of the envelopes. These must mean a great deal to her, if she kept them. Perhaps she did come to meet him that fateful day, but the question remained, why didn't they meet?

He threw the letters back in the suitcase, dumped all her toiletries from the bed inside, grabbed her book and snow globe from the nightstand, placed them inside gingerly, and looked around. That appeared to be everything.

He took both suitcases and apparated to his house. He contemplated putting everything in his room, and even headed that way, when he turned around and placed them in the room across the hall instead. He put the suitcases on the floor. He called one of his elves, asked them to unpack for her, to get some fresh flowers, and please put some different curtains on the windows. For some reason, he didn't think she would like the curtains. He paced around, wondering what else he should do, before he went back to get her. He couldn't think of anything else off-hand, but he knew he wanted everything to be perfect for her.

He disapparated back to her room in the attic. He ran down the stairs, just as Maureen was heading up the second set of stairs. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid our loved ones have temporarily abandoned us. It seems the brother Grangers, and their sister, had some things to discuss, which Michael informed me was long overdue. So, may I interest you in my and Erin's company until they come back from Martin's house?"

Draco was curious as to what they were discussing, but he had a guess. If it was what he thought, Michael was correct, it was long overdue.

He walked outside with Maureen and Erin ran up to them. She said, "Tell me more about your school with all the funny names, Mr. Malfoy."

Maureen laughed, and Draco took the little girl's hand and said, "Do you want the truth, or the fairytale version, because they're both fascinating."

Maureen said, "She loves fairytales and everything magical."

"AH," Draco exclaimed, "You want the truth, then, young Erin." He sat at one of the tables, and began to tell her the truth, which of course, she and her mother mistook for a fairytale, for after all, there was no such thing as magic.


	16. From Dusk to Draco's Meltdown

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 16 – From Dusk to Draco's Meltdown:**

At the exact moment that Draco Malfoy was telling young Erin Mohr about a magical school, full or witches and wizards, spells and charms, goblins and giants, Hermione Granger was regaling a similar story to her brothers. Draco's story had a world that had dragons and trolls, unicorns and centaurs, a place where you fly around on a broomstick, a crystal ball is real, and there are good guys, bad guys, and everything in between.

However, at Martin's house, Hermione's story, while similar to Draco's tale, was also very different. Instead of a mythical world of fairytales, Hermione's world was full of sinister magic, ominous prophecies, and dark lords. Hers was a tale of Death Eaters, Muggles, Mudbloods, and a young boy who was chosen by a prophecy to save their world, and who happened to be one of Hermione's best friends.

As afternoon turned to dusk, evening turned to night, Hermione wove her tale of growing up as a witch, and all it involved. It was her life story, and it was both fascinating and terrifying to her brothers. While Michael interrupted every once in a while with questions such as, 'what is the Department of Mysteries again?' and 'So Voldemort came back?', Martin sat by in quiet observation, never interrupting even once. It was almost as if he already knew her story. When she was finally done talking, four hours had past, and it was almost 9:30 pm.

Michael had to leave to start the fireworks. He chuckled and told Hermione that next year he would save the money on the fireworks display and she could take her wand and 'poof' – fireworks! Hermione told him that if he ever made another feeble joke about her magic, 'poof' – he would disappear! They all laughed as Martin and Hermione stayed behind, still at Martin's kitchen table, basking in the afterthoughts of an implausible afternoon.

Martin reached over for Hermione's hand. "Sounds like both a wonderful and frightening world in which you live, sister dear. Again, I regret that I was not able to protect you from that troll your first year, that Death Eater your fifth, and that terrible year you searched for Horcruxes. I even wish I could have protected you from Malfoy and his evil aunt. It takes a big person to forgive someone like Draco Malfoy. If I'm not proud of you for all your other accomplishments, which I admit I am, I'm at least proud of you for that."

"Thank you, Marty, but don't feel bad that you couldn't protect me from the things that occurred in the magical world. After all, even if you knew about my world at the time, there was only so much you could have done, being a Muggle and all. Also, it's probably better that you didn't know, it kept you all safe during the war."

Dr. Martin Granger, respected physician, eldest son of Richard and Monica, and oldest brother of Michael and Hermione, looked circumspect for a moment, and then began to cry. Hermione was shocked. She stood up and put her arms around her brother's shoulders, as he sat at his kitchen table and cried.

"Hermione," he began, "how do you suppose I knew about Apparition? Why do you think I wasn't shocked when I told you I knew about your magic the other day? Oh, Hermione, of course I knew. I knew because we aren't as different as you may think."

He put his head on his table. Hermione gasped and sat in the chair beside him. "No, Martin, no."

He stood up and looked up at the ceiling. He turned so his back was to her and he said, "Does magic run in families, even Muggle families?"

"Yes, I went to school with two brothers, who were born Muggles. Martin, you aren't telling me that you are a wizard, are you?" She stood up as well, and put her hand on his arm. He turned around.

"When I received my Hogwarts letters, I was eleven years old. Came as quite a shock. It was before we even knew about you, Sweetie. A year before, you would have only been three years old. Mother was mortified. She didn't even know what it all meant, even though her and Dad received a letter as well, telling them about magic, and how I could get my books, about catching the train, everything. I'm sure your grandparents were sent a similar letter."

"Of course, there was no question, I wasn't allowed to go. Mother decided she didn't want a freak in the family. I was forbidden ever to mention it again. So was Dad. He tried to persuade her, but she said she would take Michael and leave, and neither of us would ever see him or her again if I went to that school. I thought I needed to stay, to keep my family together."

Hermione was close to tears, for the hundredth time that day. "That was an atrocious thing to place at a child's feet. Make him think that it was up to him to save his family."

"Yes, well, as I said before, I have many misgivings and regrets. When you came two summers later, and you were so smart, I could tell you were special like me. Not a freak, like me, but special, like me. At least, I hoped you would be. I thought, well, if I can't be magical, at least she can."

"When Dad told me about your letter from Hogwarts, yes, he told me, I didn't just discover it on my own, I was proud of you. He made me promise never to tell Mum or Michael. He didn't know what Mother might do. A couple years later, she caught me reading your copy of Hogwarts a History. I was 22, home from University, and I devoured that book in two weeks. You didn't even know it was missing. You left it here. Dad said you had two copies anyway. Mum caught me reading it, found out it belonged to you, and from that point on, she knew about you. Even though I was 22 years old, she beat me with a wooden spoon. She hit me so hard that the spoon cracked in two. I still have a scar on my back."

Hermione suddenly wanted to protect her brother from his mother, even though he was now an adult. "Were you ever jealous of me?" Hermione asked.

"Never, I mean that, never," he promised. He held her tight. "Envious, a little, but that's not the same as jealous. Really, if I couldn't have magic, I was happy that at least you did. Of course, the Ministry of Magic still kept track of me. They made sure I registered as an unlicensed Wizard."

Hermione sat on the table and said, "Does that mean you never developed your skills? You never learned magic?"

"Not really, no. I can do some things and I know the principles and all, and the history, since Dad got me my own copy of 'Hogwarts, a History' when I graduated from Medical School. But, that's fine, really it is. I'm happy with my life. I have a profession, which I love and am very good at, and I'm getting married to a woman I love more than anything. My life is good."

Hermione knew he was sincere, but also knew that he probably really did have regrets. "You know, I used to work for the department of Muggle relations, I resigned after my divorce, but the director of that department is still a very good friend of mine. We can register you again, and you can learn to use your magic. It is not too late. You can get a wand and everything."

"It is too late," he said.

"No, Martin, it isn't. Especially now that you're getting married, for the likelihood is that if you have children, they'll probably be magical," she said. "You need to tell Maureen."

"I know I do," he said sadly. "Listen, I'm serious when I say I'm happy with the way my life finally is, but I will think about it, okay? I have to admit, apparating beats walking any day." Hermione laughed.

"Let's go back. Draco is probably wondering where I am, and we're going to miss the fireworks," Hermione said.

He said with a smile, "Take me away, Hermione, take me away," and held out his arm. She smiled and apparated them back to the farm.

Back at the farm, Draco saw that Michael had returned, minus Martin and Hermione. She had been gone forever. He decided to walk across the field, find Martin's house, and go collect her, because it was time to go HOME. He trotted across the field, with only the light from the first of the fireworks lighting his way, when he heard a 'pop'. He saw Hermione and Martin as they apparated back to the field. Hermione saw him, let go of Martin's hand, and ran into Draco's arms. She greeted him like a long lost love. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tighter than he had ever been hugged before. This pleased him to no end. He said, "You were gone forever."

"A slight exaggeration," she returned. "We had a lot to talk about, but I'm sorry we were gone so long."

"Erin and Maureen proved to be very nice company. Don't be angry, but I told them all about Hogwarts. Of course, they think I was just making up a story. They have no idea I was telling them the truth."

"They'll know soon enough," she said. She didn't elaborate on that statement. Instead, she told him everything she told her brothers, but in condensed form, since he already knew of which she spoke. Still, Draco was shocked.

"You told them about Voldemort, and the Death Eaters, and about my father and my aunt?" he asked. Draco knew she was going to say yes.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but I needed to purge my soul," she said.

"Some of that wasn't your story to tell," he reprimanded. However, he understood.

"Most of it was," she returned.

"Did you tell them about our letters?" he asked.

"Yes, I told them you wrote to me, asking for forgiveness, and I didn't even know who you were, and that we fell in love that way. I'll tell my father as well," she said. He let go of her hands.

He turned away from her and said, "Did you tell them why we didn't meet?"

"No, because you deserve to know that story first, and I promise, soon, very soon, Draco, I'll tell you. Can you wait for me?" she asked.

He wanted to say, "I've been waiting a long time already," but instead he nodded. She couldn't see in the dark, so she asked again, and this time he said, "Yes."

Martin had lagged behind, but finally joined them and said, "We should get back. The fireworks are a little too close to us here. I don't know about you two, but I don't want to catch fire."

All three started back toward the tent. Hermione took Draco's hand, and stopped him midway there. She wanted to be sure that they were away from the crowd. She said, "Do you really want to stay and watch the fireworks?"

"Muggle fireworks, I don't think so," he said.

"I'll go tell Dad goodbye, and meet you back right here. Stay here and I mean that. Don't move, stay."

"I'm not a dog, Granger. You can't just tell me to stay, and I stay," he said.

"How about 'roll over'?" she asked, smiling.

"The only command I might recognize is 'beg' and then only in bed, and regarding sex," he said.

She said, "Just stay, for goodness sakes, and then we can go home!" He grinned in the darkness, his face illuminated by the red and blue lights of the fireworks. She said, "Why are you so pleased all of the sudden."

"You said, 'home'," he said.

"Oh, I meant, your house," she stumbled, feeling embarrassed.

"No, you said, home, you can't take it back now, Granger. No sir, you said, 'home', I clearly heard you. Run away, little Muggle-born, tell your Poppa goodbye, and then come back to me and we'll go home," he laughed.

"You are so weird," she mumbled, as she walked away.

"I once heard from a chap that 'weird' is just another word for 'Hermione' by the way!" he shouted after her. He really did think she was weird, and she definitely said, 'home'.

Hermione told her father goodbye, and ran back to Draco, who started to walk toward her. He stopped to look up at an especially colourful display. She put her head on his shoulder. "I didn't tell you the best part of my talk with my brothers," she said.

He looked down at her, as she looked up at him. He moved her in his arms, so that both his arms shrouded her in their warmth. "What is that, Granger? That Martin is a wizard?"

"Draco Malfoy, how did you know that?" she asked with an intake of breath.

"Are you joking?" Draco asked, because he was when he said that. "Seriously, you are joking!"

"No, that's just it, he really is," she said.

He put his hand on her forehead. She hit it away. He put it back and said, "You have a fever, you're delirious."

He felt his own forehead and said, "I might have a fever as well, because I think I believe you. What's it called when people have mass hysteria?"

"The truth?" she spouted. "I'm serious, you fool! He's a wizard, and when he got his Hogwarts letter, Monica, the wizard hater, evil incarnate, Voldemort's long lost sire, refused to let him go. Isn't that sad?"

"It's more than sad, it should be criminal," Draco said sincerely. "What is he going to do about it?"

"I don't think he's going to do anything. He said he's happy," Hermione said. They started walking to his house.

"Happy?" Draco asked, shocked. "As a common Muggle? Who would be happy with that?"

Hermione laughed and said, "Several hundred million people, you bigot!"

"I shall ignore your rude comments, since I know you've had a traumatic day, and you apparently don't know any better. By the way, it didn't take long to tell your dad goodnight. Was he okay with the fact that you are staying with me, now?" Draco asked.

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him toward his front gate. "Ouch, Granger, my arm is attached to its socket, so please take care not to pull so hard. What did your dad say?"

"Just come on, let's get inside. I need a hot bath," she said. They started up the walk to his house.

Draco stopped moving, and even though she paid his arm and its socket no mind, and continued to pull quite vigorously, he didn't budge at all. "What's wrong now? What did the spineless git say to you now?"

Hermione sighed and said, "He's treating me like a child. He said he still doesn't approve of me staying with you, and apparently it has nothing to do with my reputation or sex."

"Good, so we can ruin your reputation tonight, and have sex, all at once. Two birds with one stone, so to speak," he laughed. Even in the moonlight, he could tell she was giving him an evil stare. "Fine, Granger, you old stick in the mud, what did he say?"

"Well…" she hesitated. She looked down. He put his hand under her chin, and forced her to look up at him. She said, "It's because of your past. Because of things your mother told him. I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco sneered and said, "And you called me the bigot! He doesn't want you to associate with me because of who and what I was, is that correct?"

She hugged him, resting her head on his chest, and said softly, "Yes, that's it exactly."

Draco pushed her away, as if she said it, not her father. He stormed on his porch, and into his house. She followed. He began to rant. "What a stupid man! And to think I once admired him. I thought because he showed my mother compassion, that he was a compassionate man, but it was all a joke! A falsehood! LIES! He's not an honourable man! An honourable man wouldn't have let his daughter endure years of abuse, emotional and physical!" Draco picked up a vase, very old looking, and threw it against the wall. Hermione cowered by the wall, her hands over her face.

He paced back and forth in the hallway and continued his harangue. "People can change for the better! I've changed for the better! You see that, don't you? You've helped me change!" He walked up to her and grabbed her shoulders. He shook her as he continued. "Why can't he give me a chance? I'm giving all of them a chance. Hell, after the way they've all treated you all these years, I should hex them to oblivion! It's what they expect from me, anyway!"

He pushed her back hard, harder than he intended, and she stumbled against the wall. She held her arm, which she was sure would bruise. He hadn't noticed. His raving continued. He ran up the stairs, shouting, "I might as well bury my head in the sand, and live in shame, since no one will ever overlook my past misdeeds!" He went to his bedroom and slammed the door. Even with his door shut, she could hear him continue to shout.

Hermione had no idea what she was to do now. She sat on the stairs and held her sore arm. Why was he so angry with her? She didn't think these things. She couldn't help what her father thought. The answers to her ponderings hit her upside the head so suddenly, that she actually hit her forehead with the flat of her hand, as if to animate her discovery.

Draco wasn't angry with her! He was just angry! He had as much emotional baggage from his dysfunctional childhood as she did. His scars were as evident as the dark mark on his arm. He still let how others perceive the Draco from the past affect the Draco of the here and now, as well as the Draco of the future.

She heard his door open and he was still yelling. He yelled down the stairs, "I never killed anyone, did I? I was a child! What could I do? I couldn't go against my own father! How many years must go by before my sins are washed away, Granger?"

She turned her head and looked up the stairs at him. She did not know what to say to him. She was tired, emotionally and physically tired. This had been one of the longest days of her life, and it was not yet over. She walked up the stairs. He had stopped his tirade, and stood outside his bedroom door. She asked, "Where are my things?"

"You aren't leaving here!" he yelled.

"I know I just need to take a bath, okay?" she said meekly.

"Oh," he responded, embarrassed. He pointed to the room across from his. She walked in, and asked, "Where's the bathroom?" He pointed to the door next to her room. She asked, "Where am I sleeping?"

He said, "My room." What would she say to that?


	17. Persuasion and Sympathy

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 17 – Persuasion and Sympathy: ****  
**  
He wasn't sure what he expected her to say when he said, "My room." In truth, he didn't expect her to say anything. Let her make what she would of his answer. She was the one who said earlier that she was going to sleep in his bed tonight, so really, he was just repeating what she apparently wanted.

She turned to walk to her room, saying nary a word about his answer to her question. She made neither a comment, nor a declaration. She opened her suitcase, took out her nightgown, shampoo and soap. Ignoring his presence, she walked past him to the bathroom, as if he were a piece of furniture or a light fixture. She turned on the bathroom light and shut the door.

He heard the tub running, so he sat down in the hallway, determined to wait for her. He wanted to apologize for his outburst earlier. He was still angry, but not at her, and it wasn't fair of him to yell at her. He pushed her rather hard as well. He was dreadfully sorry about that. He felt remorse and rather morose at the thought. He wasn't raised to hurt women. However, he was raised to hate Mudbloods, so really, was one sin worse than the other was? He was so tired of always having to apologize. He wished he could still write to his 'friend' when he had problems like this. She would listen, and not judge. Of course, she was also sitting in the bathroom taking a bath right now. He was in a quandary.

If something like this had happened before she knew who he was, he would have written to her, poured out his thoughts and emotions, told her how badly he felt, and he would have felt better. Somehow, yelling at her, ranting and raving, and knocking her in the wall were not the same. He didn't feel better, he felt one hundred times worse. It made him feel guilty and small, and he didn't like that, not one bit.

He heard the water stop. She must be in the tub by now. He crawled closer to the bathroom door. He placed his back against the molding of the doorframe. He closed his eyes. It was oddly peaceful. He missed her. He missed her so much. Having her so near made him miss her more than he ever had. He couldn't understand that, and he wondered if she ever felt the same. In person, she was more guarded. She had built so many walls around her, to protect herself, and he wasn't sure he was up to climbing the walls, or if he had the fortitude to walk around them. Therefore, he might never reach her.

He heard her weeping. Why did she have to cry so much? It truly was unhealthy. As soon as he had that thought, he realized how wrong he was. It was probably very healthy to cry. It was good for her. How did she put it earlier? She needed to 'purge her soul'. It was for purely selfish reasons that Draco wished she wouldn't cry. It was because with each and every single tear that escaped her eyes, a hole appeared in his heart, and each hole threatened to consume said heart, until it decayed into nothingness. He hurt for her. He didn't like that. He didn't like having feelings like empathy. It went against how he was raised.

The sound of her cries decreased. He turned his face to the door, and while still on the floor, he reached for the handle. It was unlocked. He opened it just a bit, and leaned once again on the door jam. He wanted her to know he was there. It was better to let her have her time alone, but he would stay right outside the door, just in case.

Her crying stopped. "Draco?" she asked.

"Yes, Granger?" he asked back.

"I just wanted to make sure you were still there, just in case," she said.

"I am," he said back. He heard her moving around in the water, washing, shampooing, rinsing, repeat. He heard her step out of the tub. He didn't turn around. She might not even know he had opened the door. He waited, heart beating in his throat, palms sweating, mouth dry. She opened the door a bit more, to let the steam out of the room. He heard her dressing. Why hadn't she exited the bathroom yet?

"Malfoy?" she said from behind the partially opened door.

"I'm still here," he said. Even if that wasn't what she wanted to know, that was his answer. He shifted slightly, so he could glance in the bathroom. The door was opened most of the way now, but he didn't immediately see her. He craned his neck, and finally saw her sitting on the side of the tub, combing her hair. He moved back against the frame.

When no other words came from either of them, he shut his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; however, before he knew it, he drifted off. With his back still against the polished wood of the doorframe, he felt her as she stood inside the door, thus waking him. He looked up at her.

"Hi, sleepyhead," she said.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"No clue. Time for all good boys to go to bed, but I suppose you can go to bed, too," she said. "I think it's pretty late. I was in the bathroom for a long time."

She said no more, but stepped over his body, her white silk gown rustling against his shoulder as she passed. She smelled like soap. He couldn't distinguish the smell. Perhaps it was just her natural scent. He liked it, whatever it was. He reached out and grabbed her gown before she could escape. She looked over her shoulder at him. He motioned with his head that she should sit next to him.

She sat down on the floor, next to him, leaning against the wall. He scooted over, so he was no longer against the uncomfortable doorframe, but instead up against the smooth surface of the wall. He wrapped his right arm around her, cradling her body against his chest. She curled down, to recline on the floor, her head in his lap. He stroked her still damp hair. Her hand was on his thigh. She pinched the material of his slacks between her fingers. It was moments such as these that he had missed, even though they had yet to exist between them. Odd.

He looked down at her curly hair. His hand stopped moving in her hair, and moved down her shoulder, to her hand. He grabbed her hand. Hermione looked up at him. He said, "Do you know how having you close to me like this makes me feel? It makes me feel alive for the first time in my life. I've been an empty vessel for so long, walking the face of the earth, barely alive, little more than a ghost, void of feeling, taking up space, breathing air, but not a real person, and for so very long. I almost forgot what love was." His hand traveled down her body, and he moved her, practically picking her up, so she was sitting across his lap. Her hand rested on his chest, and she kissed his neck.

His hand continued to move across the planes of her body, down her arm, to her hip, to her leg. He placed his hand back to her cheek, and kissed her forehead. He thought she was like a fragile piece of china, put together with tape, and liable to fall apart at any moment, so he handled her with the utmost care.

"Can we go to bed now?" she asked.

"Are you asking my permission to go to bed, or if we have the ability to go to bed?" he mused, ready to give her a grammar lesson.

She hit his chest and said, "Fine, Mr. Grammar, may we go to bed now?"

He gently pushed her off his lap and said, "You go on, I have to take a shower. I'll be right in. Don't fall asleep without me." He smiled and stood up. He gave her his hand, and helped her to stand. She walked across to his room, and disappeared within. He was tired and sore. He threw his shirt over his head, and turned on the water. He stood there, hand under the faucet, waiting for the warm water. When the temperature was just right, he finished undressing and stepped in the shower.

Towel wrapped around his waist, he walked in his room. She was on her side, under the sheet, on the bed. Her head was turned away from him. He walked over to his dresser and grabbed some boxers. He slipped them on, threw the towel on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed. She turned around toward him, fanning her fingertips down his back, feeling each vertebra of his spine with the tips of her fingers. Large drops of water remained splattered on his skin, in an almost intricate design. She used her fingertips to touch several of the drops, connecting them with one another. She took a deep breath and in her mind, she willed him to lie down. He remained seated on the bed, back to her.

She wanted to comfort him. She wanted to tell him the truth about everything, but she was afraid. She was afraid he wasn't ready. It wasn't the right time. If she told him the truth, then she would have to face the reality of that night herself, and she couldn't do that again. She had spent too many restless nights reliving that horrible, fateful night, over and over again. She was numb to it now, and she liked it that way. If she talked about it again, it would open old wounds, and they would seep and fester forever. She had played that night over in her head so many times, like little reels of tape with different scenarios, wondering if she could have changed things, and if she even wanted to. She didn't even know what was real anymore.

Was he ever going to lie down? She turned away from him again, face toward the windows, back toward Draco. She felt a sag in the mattress, a pull on the covers, and heard his body slide between the sheets. He reached over to her with his hand and touched her shoulder. She turned her face slightly to look at him.

"Come here, please," he uttered.

She ignored his request for a moment, but only a moment. His hand slid from her shoulder to her arm. He saw the fresh bruise, which he knew was his fault. He moved his body closer to her, lifted his head, and kissed the yellowish, green blemish. "Did I do that?" He kissed it again.

"I don't know," she lied.

"I'm sorry," he said. He was. He kissed her shoulder. He moved his mouth down her arm. Her belly felt queasy, and her lower abdomen began to tingle with want. He inched closer, clasped her hand with his, and placed their joined hands on her stomach. He pulled her back flushed up against his front, close as close could be. She began to shake, not out of fear, certainly not from a chill, but from yearning, pure, unrelenting, passion and desire. He snaked a leg over hers. She moved to her back. His hand moved from her stomach, up to her chest. He felt her collarbone.

He longed to climb on top of her, separate her legs with his, and push his desire into her. Not only was he hard with want, but he too was shaking, not with nerves, as he suspected was the source of her shivers, but from love, and the knowledge that if he proceeded in this fashion, there would be no turning back, ever. He moved his hand from her collarbone, down to her nightgown covered bosom. He moved her hair away from her shoulder with his nose and licked her neck slowly, pulse point to ear. His hand stayed on her breast, not moving, not seeking, just resting.

She asked, "Do you love me?"

He looked up with shrouded eyes and said, "How can I convince you? Are my words not enough? Should I show you in deed, instead of words? Yes, Hermione, I love you so much that it kills me not to show you."

"How would you show me?" she asked.

He smiled for the first time since they came home. Was she serious? "If you want to know, I have to really show you, because words won't tell the full story."

He wondered what she would say to that. She already surprised him once this evening, maybe he was in for a bigger surprise. She looked at him, for a long time. She had ample time to move his hand from her breast, or kick him in the shin, or run away and cry some more. She did none of those things, not a one. He leaned over her again and kissed her soundly. His lips moved over hers, creating a rhapsody in her soul. She moaned and he picked up the pace, deepened the intent, and moved to place his lean body against her soft one.

He was in his element, there was a flurry of activity on the bed, and he kept thinking he was bound to wake up from this heavenly dream at any moment. He kissed her again, not as gentle this time, and her arms went up to his neck. He kissed her in a fierce, ravenous way, which was almost primordial and hallowed. She responded to his kisses eagerly.

He said, "Is this what you want?"

To which she responded, "I want you."

He stood and removed his shorts quickly, to lie back beside her on the bed. He caressed her body on top of her nightgown. He was lying over her, and her hand went up to stroke his face. His fingers ran lightly over her stomach. He put his hand on her stomach, and started rubbing circles on top of her nightgown, up and down her stomach, with the tips of his fingers.

He continued to massage her arms and hands with gentle circles. He played with the lace that was at the neckline of her nightgown, which came down to a deep 'V'. He brought his hand to her neck and he could feel her rapid pulse. He could tell that her body felt that same as his. His hand reached down to the hem of her gown, "May I take if off you?" he asked.

When she remained quiet, not inclined to answer his question, he decided to do what he thought was best, and he bent down and pulled her gown up, exposing only her bare stomach, leaving it over her breasts. She didn't have any underwear on, but the sheet remained on her lower half. She smiled at him.

He reached down and stroked her leg with his fingers, so lightly, that she thought she might have imagined it. He sat up and started to stroke her other leg, his hand under the sheet, the sheet shielding his eyes from her body underneath. He moved his body between her legs, and placed a small kiss on her chest, between her breasts. He ran his tongue down her chest, stopping at the deep 'V' of the neckline. He again reached for the hem of her gown, which had pooled under her breasts, and he dragged the gown off her body, over her head, and deposited it on the floor. He pushed her legs apart once more with his knees, kneeled between her knees, and kissed her stomach and breasts.

He said her name with longing. He leaned over her on his elbows and with his right hand, he touched the underside of her breasts. He leaned down and his lips began to toy with the edges of her mouth, teasing her. He licked her lips. He forced her mouth open, and tasted her deeply.

He moved to his back, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of his bare chest. He leaned his head to the left, and she brushed her lips against his neck, and then tenderly caressed his neck with her tongue, so that his body began to ache with need. Her need. His need. Their need.

He couldn't believe that she was returning his advances. She kissed him with a passion, which she never knew existed inside her. He rolled them over once more, so that she was under him, and he kissed her long and hard. He kissed her neck, and he bent down and kissed her right breast while his hand cradled the other breast. He lightly stroked her nipple with the pad of his thumb. He pushed the thin sheet off them both, and looked down at the perfect creature that was before him. He admired more than her perfect body, he revered her soul, and worshipped her heart.

He took a deep breath in...he wanted her so much. He leaned down and kissed the valley between her breasts. Then he gently kissed the right breast, and then the left. He put his large hand on her bare stomach and spread his fingers across it.

He put his whole hand on one breast, leaned down, and kissed her lips once more.

He kissed her abdomen. He dipped his tongue into her navel, his tongue traveled the length of her legs, and they continued to make love, as their bodies met in perfect completion and harmony. She felt like crying and laughing at the same time. He prayed he would never wake up from this dream. He entered her, as slowly and gently as he could, remember that she was like fine china, delicate and fragile.

She longed for the taste and feel of him. He focused on her face the entire time he was inside her. She had the most relaxed, calm look on her face. It was mesmerizing. He wanted to remember this moment forever.

His face was not as calm. He was taciturn, but determined. It was over too soon, too soon for them both. He couldn't even believe it happened. It happened, it was perfect, and if he died tonight, he would die complete.

When they were replete, and in each other's arms, she said, "Thanks for proving your love to me."

"Thanks for asking for proof," he smiled back. "Now, it's time for you to prove your love to me."

She grinned, pulled her head up from his chest to look in his face and said, "What can I do to prove my love to you?"

"Can?" he inquired.

"Oh, goodness," she hit his chest, "What MAY I do to prove my love to you?"

"You may tell me the truth finally. What do you have to hide? I've seen you in all your glory, in every conceivable way," he stated. She sat up and pulled the sheet to her chest. He sat beside her and continued, "I have tried every imaginable way to prove my love to you. I have tried to hide it, to prove it to you. I have tried to be your friend, to prove it to you. I have been your confidant, your sounding board, and your pen pal. Now, I've been your lover. I've proved it to you in every way possible, and all I ask in return is for you to prove it, once and for all to me, in one simple way. Tell me the truth about that night. Please."

She started shaking again, this time in anger, which caught him off-guard. She threw off the sheet, grabbed her nightgown from the floor, and stumbled with it, trying hard to put it back over her body. He jumped off the bed, and found his shorts. As he struggled to put them on, she stormed from the room, and ran almost blindly down the stairs. She threw open his front door, and ran wildly out his garden gate.


	18. Hermione, Naked to the World

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 18 – Naked to the World: **

Hermione's gown became stuck in the latch of the garden gate right after she flung it open while trying to run away. She didn't have her wand, or she could have apparated. She frantically worked to remove her gown from the latch, thus giving Draco the advantage, and the time he needed to catch up with her.

She turned to face him and screamed, "Stay away from me." She pulled hard on her gown, ripping it straight down the side. She noticed she had cut her hip, where the piece of metal from the latch caught the gown. There was blood on her white nightgown, and blood running down her thigh. She grabbed the shreds of silk together, and turned to run again, but he reached out with his hand, and pulled on her arm.

She had a wild look in her eye and she yelled, "I love you, I do!"

"PROVE IT!" he yelled back.

"I DID!" she screeched.

He let go of her arm, and threw his hands in the air. "HOW? By sleeping with me? I want you to trust me! Tell me the truth of that night. Tell me why you didn't meet me!"

Hermione couldn't stand it one more minute. She told him never to say that again! She threw back her hand and she slapped his face so hard that he stumbled back a few steps.

"I told you never to say that again!" she shouted. "I did go meet you, and I can't help it if you don't believe me! I can't help it if I'm not ready to tell you everything! I can't help your insecurities and the fact that you have me now, here before you, is not enough for you. I can't help anything!" She lowered her head, and no longer shouting, said, "I can't help you anymore. I thought I could, but I just can't!" She sunk to the ground, but no tears came. She was too broken for tears.

She was right, he thought. Having her now made up for everything, but he was human, and he had more at stake than just his curiosity. He had a strong suspicion that they could never be together until the THING that was between them vanished.

He simply sat down beside her, on the hard earth, and waited. She began to speak.

"I vacillated back and forth that whole day on whether or not to meet you. At first there was no question, of course I was coming. I told you I would, and I wanted to, so I was going to meet you. I packed my bag, and walked all around the house, waiting for 2:00 pm to come. That whole day, I began to question everything. I thought, I don't even know this man, should I leave my home, my husband, my friends, and all that was familiar and comfortable for a man whom I don't even know?"

"As the time drew closer, I felt a heaviness inside my chest. I couldn't do it! I couldn't leave my husband. Not because I was in love with him, I loved him, but I was not in love, I never was. But because of my baby. You didn't even know about the baby, and I thought you wouldn't accept us, package deal and all. Also, was it fair to take our baby away from Roger? It was his child as much as it was mine. He was its father. Maybe if my father had known me from birth, instead waiting until I was three to meet me, he might have felt differently about me. Perhaps it would have made a difference."

She stopped talking for a while. He took that opportunity to crawl over to her, so he could be closer still. He didn't want to tower over her, but he wanted to be there to catch her, if she fell, if not literally, than figuratively.

"It was almost noon. Two hours until I was to meet you, when I decided I couldn't do it. I went to get my suitcase, which I left by the front door, to take it back upstairs, when Roger came walking in unexpectedly. He never came home for lunch, never, but that day, he did. It was just fate's way of throwing yet another wrench my way, I guess."

"He saw me with my suitcase, standing by the door, and he thought I was leaving. He didn't know that I had changed my mind."

Draco interrupted, "So, Roger came home, and that's what you meant when you said 'fate' that day to me, as to why you didn't meet me?"

"No, no, no," she began to chant. She was shaking her head back and forth. "No, that's not what I meant."

He decided to remain quiet, hoping she would answer his many questions with her explanation. She started to pull on the grass by her leg. She pulled it from the earth, and played with it between her fingers. "Roger saw my suitcase, and he asked me if I was leaving. At first, I was shocked, he didn't know about the letters, I thought, so why would he assume I was leaving? When I didn't say anything, he took my suitcase from me, placed it on the floor, and took my hands. He told me he had seen the letters, and that he knew I loved another, and that we had planned to meet. He begged me not to leave him and to think of our baby. He said it was not too late, for I hadn't been unfaithful yet. He said he still loved me, that he would forgive me, and he would try harder to make me happy."

"It broke my heart that he blamed himself for my misdeeds and unhappiness. It wasn't his fault that I didn't love him. At that moment, I decided to be truthful to him and myself. I told him I no longer loved him, that I was sorry, and that I was leaving. I didn't tell him that I had changed my mind earlier, because I decided that I did want to meet you! I did."

"He was desperate, and he begged me to reconsider. He apologized for our problems. He was grasping at straws, which only resulted in me feeling worse. He finally decided to play the trump card. He said, 'please Hermione, think of our baby. Do what's right for him'. He told me not to let some former Death Eater ruin the life we had built. He said it was selfish of me to think of my own happiness, over that of my child. I grabbed my suitcase, opened my front door, and ran away from him. I didn't care anymore."

She stopped talking again, and she fell forward, bent at the waist, facing the ground. He reached out his hand, and rubbed her back. She began to cry again. He stood up, lifted her bridal style, and walked in the house with her, kicking the door shut with his foot. Her tears were desperate tears. Tears of pain. He wouldn't ask anymore of her tonight.

He sat with her in a large easy chair in the corner of his lounge. He rocked her back and forth in his arm. She offered no other explanation, instead she cried into his chest, repeating the mournful words she said that night on the porch, after she sang the lullaby. She kept chanting, "My poor little baby boy, my poor little baby boy," through her tears.

Draco felt his eyes fill with tears for her. He found it hard to even think or comprehend what she meant, but he finally had an idea. His eyes burned as he held off his own tears. He finally understood. He no longer wanted the answers to his questions, not if it caused her this much pain. He didn't want to know the implications of her words.

Was that the day she lost her baby?

Did she blame him?

He actually already knew the answer to that. She blamed herself. He would blame himself. It would be easier on them both if it were the other way around. If she would only blame him, it would be easier for him to bear her grief.

He hushed her tears and said softly, "That's enough for now. You don't have to tell me more. Please, don't cry." In his head he said, 'please, don't blame me.' He didn't know how long he held her like that, but he knew she had finally drifted off to sleep. Had half an hour gone by, had half the night? He didn't care. He wanted to hold her forever.

He carried her up to his bed, and placed her on her back. He came to rest beside her, pulled the sheet over their bodies, and put his arms around her. He barely slept. She cried out a few times at night, nightmares he was certain. Nightmares, which he had caused.

Morning came too soon. He slept off and on, but never restful. He woke before she did. He showered, dressed, and went up to the attic. He wanted to paint some more of her portrait, while the events of last night were fresh in his mind. He told one of his elves to send her up some breakfast.

She was happy for the breakfast, but she wondered where Draco was. Perhaps he didn't want to face her this morning. She finished eating, threw her ripped gown over her head, and tossed it on the floor. It was ruined now, since it was ripped, with dried blood on it. The elves could toss it in the waste bin for all she cared.

After a couple of hours in the attic, he came downstairs. He didn't know if she would still be there. She was. She was in the same chair where they had last sat together. The sunshine from the arched windows bounced off her hair, and he swore he had never seen her more lovely.

She had on a simple sundress, no shoes, and a book was in her hand. He didn't know what her mood would be, but she answered that question easily, when she looked up from her book, smiled, and said, "Good morning, did you sleep well?"

Was she daft? He decided to answer honestly, and said, "Dreadful, really."

"I slept soundly," she said smugly, looking back down to her book.

He couldn't help but grin, as he came to sit on the arm of the chair. He took the book from her and tossed it on the floor. "Well, bully for you, Granger. Bully for you. You will have to help me relax later, and perhaps I'll be able to take a nap." He stood up and pulled on her arm. "Come upstairs and pose for me. You promised you would, but you haven't yet."

She looked at him funny and said, "I'm still not posing nude."

He smirked and said, "Did I ever tell you I have a photographic memory? I don't need you to pose nude. I have every nook and cranny, every dimple and freckle of your glorious body memorized." He chuckled at his joke, as he started upstairs with her in tow.

She rolled her eyes slightly and said, "Then you don't need me to pose." She took her arm from him. "It's bound to be hot and stuffy up in that attic, anyway."

"Hey, don't say disparaging things about my attic," he joked.

"You've said disparaging things about mine," she pointed out. Changing the subject, she said, "I want to go swimming. There's a small pond on the farm, and it has a diving platform. Let's go swimming, and then we can sunbathe. I don't want to be cooped up in this house all day."

"Nude swimming and sunbathing?" he asked, with a twinkle.

"Lord, you are a pervert," she laughed. She ran up the stairs, and he ran after her. They were laughing, and they didn't hear a person knocking on the door.

He grabbed some towels, and an old quilt from the linen closet. She grabbed her sunglasses and another book from a shelf in the hall.

"You won't need the book, Miss Granger,' he said.

"You might not be very good company, and I'll be happy I thought to bring it. I believe in being prepared."

He offered his hand and said, "Apparate us to this pond, but if the water is murky and muddy, I have no intention of swimming. The last time I swam in a pond, my hair turned green."

She couldn't help but laugh as she took his hand.

The person at the door knocked again. He was told that Hermione was there, but it appeared no one was home. He looked at his watch. It was 11:36 am. Where could they be? He didn't know if this house would have wards up, but it wouldn't hurt to see. He used his wand, and easily opened the door.

He walked around. It seemed odd that a Malfoy would live in such a small house. He had heard how large and grand Malfoy Manor was supposed to be. While this was a very large house, it was also more of a home, comfortable, lived in. Perhaps that was the attraction.

He wandered the ground floor, and then walked up the oak staircase. He entered a small bedroom, which looked like no one had been in there for years. He walked out of that room, peeked in a second bedroom, walked past a bathroom, and peeked in a third. He saw a suitcase on the floor, and another one open on the bed. He walked in. He saw her things in the opened suitcase. He saw a pile of letters tied with a red ribbon. He looked at the contents of the suitcase for a moment, and then walked in the last bedroom. The bed was unmade, and there was clothes strewn about the room. This must be his room. He reached down and saw a woman's nightgown on the floor. It was ripped. There was blood on it. The man saw red. If he had hurt her, he would kill him.

Hermione and Draco sat on the wooden dock, their bare feet dangling in the water. She said, "You didn't really paint me nude, did you?"

"Yes, I really did," he answered.

"No you didn't," she offered.

"Yes, I really did," he repeated.

"No," she said.

"Sorry, I did," he smiled. "I started it back when we were only corresponding. I gave up on it after that dreaded day we didn't meet." He gave her a worried look. He didn't know how else to word it. "I started working on it again this past week." She gave him a funny look.

"No you didn't."

The man walked up another staircase, which led to a third floor. He walked around. It was an attic, with large dormer windows, and canvases littering the floor and walls. He walked around an easel, and upon it was a painting of her. It was one of the most erotic paintings he had ever seen. She was lying in the grass, wild flowers and weeds all around her. Her arms above her head, her full ample breasts exposed, a strategic patch of high grass covering her lower part, except for her long, legs, one of which was bent at the knee, the other one straight out in front of her. He grew embarrassed looking at her picture like this. He found it oddly sensual. Did she pose for this? For him? What had happened here?

He started toward the attic stairs, more determined than ever to find her. That was when he saw it. Underneath the corner of a small worn loveseat. He turned back around, and climbed back up the few attic steps he had just descended. He pulled out the wooden box, and saw a pile of letters, similar to the pile of letters that she had tied with a red ribbon in her suitcase, except this pile was tied with a green one. He tore the ribbon off, and it only took a moment of reading the very first letter, when he saw it was her handwriting. NO! He was the same man! He was the man from her letters! Did she even know?

Hermione stood up and pulled her brown sundress over her head. She had on white knickers and a matching bra. She said, "Let's go swimming. It's so hot today." He was admiring her long, lean frame when it disappeared from him, as she ran off the pier and jumped into the clear water. Her head appeared, breaking the surface of the water, and she laughed. "Come on, Malfoy! Are you a Hufflepuff, or a Slytherin?"

"First, Granger, don't ever call me a Hufflepuff again, second, I am a Slytherin, which means I'm too smart to jump into a muddy, brown pond with you."

"The water's clean and clear and you know it," she said. She started floating on her back. Her hair fanned around her and her legs and arms moved effortlessly, with almost little movement, keeping her afloat. He eased out of his jeans and t-shirt, and jumped into the pond. The water was warm and satisfying.

He swam over to her and grabbed her arm. The water was shallow, so he could still stand and keep his head above water, but barely. She would have been too short to do the same, so she grabbed his shoulders, and pulled herself to him.

He put a hand on her face, the brushed it down her long, wet, hair. He leaned closer and kissed her lips. They were wet from the water, and wet from his kiss. He put his mouth to hers once more, and opened it widely. Their tongues danced together, and his arms went under hers, holding her upright, but more importantly, holding her tight. Her arms went around his neck.

She moved her head to the left, he moved his to the right. They could not get close enough. Hermione finally pushed away from him, and started swimming to the pond bank. She yelled out, "If you can catch me, you can keep me!"

"Oh, I'm keeping you alright, Granger," he promised, as he took off after her. She climbed the bank, while he was still swimming. He reached the bank and climbed out. She was looking at something over in the distance.

He looked over her head, to see where she was looking. She said, "Malfoy, is that smoke coming from your house?"


	19. Up in Smoke

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 19 – Up in Smoke:**

Hermione ran over and slipped her dress over her wet underwear. Draco grabbed his jeans, slipped them on, left his shirt on the ground, grabbed Hermione's hand, and apparated directly to his house. The smoke appeared to be in a field directly behind the house. He ran the fire with her right by his side. There, in a field, was red flames and black smoke, coming from canvases, which included Hermione's portrait. In addition, right beside the burning paintings was two piles of letters, one tide with red string, one with a green. Hermione gasped when she saw the letters. She ran right up to the burning canvases and reached in for her letters. Draco tried to grab her arm, but he wasn't quick enough. She used her wand, 'accio' her letters, and then she noticed the other pile, assumed they were his, and called them to her as well.

The letters wrapped in green where slightly charred. The ones wrapped in the red ribbon were black and curled, and almost beyond saving. She held them in her hand, and as they were still hot, she received a bad burn, but she didn't care. She sat on the ground, cradling both sets of letters in her lap, and she began to cry.

Draco looked around, saw no one, and so he used magic to put out the flames. He ran around the side of the house, and came back to her and said, "I don't see anyone. Who would have done this?"

Hermione wasn't listening. Her letters to him and his letters to her, gone, destroyed, blackened, charred, and unrecognizable.

He walked back over to the smoldering paintings, and kneeled beside the rubble. He didn't care so much about his other paintings, but the fact that the one he did of Hermione was destroyed, well that was too much. He had worked on it for so long, even before she knew he was her friend from the letters. She had never even seen it, and it was gone. Who would have done such a thing? He looked over his shoulder and saw her crying, burned letters in her hands, the other pile, her letters to him, beside her on the ground.

He started to her, when he heard her brother Michael calling her name. "Around back!" Draco shouted.

Michael, Martin and Dr. Granger, as well as several farm hands, came running around the side of the house.

"We were out in the fields and saw smoke. We were afraid your house was on fire," Michael said. Martin ran up to his sister and looked at her burnt hand.

"Michael called us, who did this?" Dr. Granger asked.

"No clue, we were off swimming," Draco offered.

"What was on fire?" one of the farm hands asked.

"Nothing of important, just some paintings," Draco said, his eyes never leaving Hermione. Martin helped her to stand, as she cradled her burnt hand in her other hand, their letters tucked in her arm. Draco came up and took both piles of letters from her.

Dr. Granger said that he and the other men would look around, see if they saw anyone. He told Michael to go home. Martin went in the house with Hermione and Draco. Hermione sat at Draco's kitchen table, and Martin said, "I have to go back home and get my medical bag. Draco, put a cloth with some ice on her hand."

"No need," Draco said. He walked up, gingerly put her hand in his, and touched his wand gently to the burn. It healed instantly.

"Handy," Martin said. "You need to teach me that one."

Dr. Granger walked in and said, "Listen, I didn't want to say anything with the others here, but Roger stopped by our house early this morning, looking for Hermione. I think he might be responsible for the fire. He was very upset after Monica told him everything."

Hermione stood up, and with vindictiveness, said, "What the hell has that woman done now? What did she tell him?"

"I don't know how she contacted him, but she did. I told her last night about you and Draco, and the letters, and she said that Roger had a right to know. I told her to leave it alone, but I think that somehow she told him, because he showed up at the house today, and we all talked. He said he knew about the letters, but he said he couldn't believe that Draco was the one behind writing them. He seemed to think that if Hermione had known it was Draco who had written the letters, that she would never in a million years have run off with him. He said something about how you would never have forgiven Draco for what he had done," Richard said, walking around the table, nervously. "I don't know why he said that, but he said that there was no way Hermione would be with you, Draco, because she could never forgive you that easily. I assumed he meant what happened during the war, but I'm not sure."

Hermione looked like someone had knocked the wind out of her. She knew what Roger meant, and it had nothing to do with the war. While he did know about the letters, he had no clue that Malfoy wrote them, and in all truthfulness, she didn't know for certain until this week. Now Roger knew both sides of the story, before even Draco knew.

She stood up and said, "Roger is a rational man, why would he burn Draco's paintings, and our letters? That doesn't sound like him."

"Hermione, come to my house for a while," Martin said. "Maybe it would be better."

"She's safe here," Draco said. She would be. He would make sure.

"Listen, if it was Roger, he was distraught, that's all. He would never hurt me," Hermione reasoned. He was upset because it was Malfoy, because he blamed Draco for their son's stillbirth, and not because he knew that he was behind the letters. This was the part of the story that she didn't want to share with anyone, not yet. She had to find Roger and talk to him, before he did something rash.

Her head fell on the table, and she said, "Everyone leave, please. Draco and I will be fine, please, go home." Martin kissed her head and motioned for his father to leave with him.

"Hermione," Richard said, "I'm sorry that Monica has further complicated things by calling Roger. That was her intent I'm sure. I'm sorry, Draco." The two men left out the back door.

Draco stood behind her chair and reached for her hair. "You said Roger knew about the letters, and he divorced you, so why would he react like this?"

She turned in her chair and said, "Because, he didn't know about you."

"So what? I'm the one who corresponded with you. He can hate me, but why try to burn my bloody house down? Why destroy our letters, and the paintings? Why do I feel there's more to this than you're telling me? It sounds like you're saying he hates me for more than just the apparent reasons of breaking up his marriage." Draco sat beside her and caressed her arm. She put her head back on the table. "I never had any bad blood with your husband. Why would the fact that I'm the man you're in love with, be any worse than if I were any bloke off the street?"

She could not tell him. She was so tired of it all. "Not yet, Draco. Not yet. I can't handle much more. Maybe this is all a mistake." She took her burnt letters in her hand, and slowly walked up the stairs. He watched her walk all the way up, and heard her shut her bedroom door.

He waited over an hour before he decided to knock on her bedroom door. He brought her up a tray of food. He knocked, didn't wait for an answer, and walked in the room. He placed the tray down on the dresser. She was on the bed, on her side, now in shorts and t-shirt, with her back to him. On the floor were the charred remains of his letters to her. She had apparently tried, mostly in vain, to repair them with magic.

He stepped carefully over the piles, and sat down on the bed. "Do you want some lunch?"

"No."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" he asked.

She turned to her back. "No, stay." He moved so he was propped up on the pillows, still partially sitting by her side. She turned to her other side so she was looking at him. "Roger isn't a cruel person. He didn't even ever yell at me once, before I left."

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco didn't want to hear her take up for her ex-husband.

"I don't know, I'm sorry." She turned back over to her other side, away from him.

He moved to lie beside her. He pulled her up to his body, and his arm snaked around her middle. It moved up to her face, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She moved back to her back.

She looked up at him and said, "I'm so sorry about your paintings. I didn't even get to see the one you started of me."

"It was actually almost finished," he stated, his fingers playing with her hair.

"How could it be almost finished? I've only been here a week, and you've been with me most of that week," she reasoned.

"I started it when I first fell in love with you," he reminded her, "and, it really was a nude." He smiled at her.

She smiled back. "Draco Malfoy, you are a randy gentleman, aren't you. Nude, I swear. Well, I know you didn't paint that part from memory, photographic memory or not, you had never seen me naked before last night."

"Yes well, I don't really have a photographic memory, now do I, and of course, that part of the painting needed some tweaking. That's what the posing would have been for," he joked. He sat up, admired her body, and added, "I think I painted your breasts too large, but that might have been wishful thinking on my part."

"You arse!" she shouted, hitting his arm. She moved as she continued to 'fake' hit him with her opened hands. She straddled his waist, sitting on his lower body. His hands were up in defensive mode.

"Hey, violence never solves anything," he said. He grabbed her wrist and held them tight. He let her go, reached out, and actually touched both breasts with both of his hands. She did not immediately hit his hands away. She felt embarrassed however, and moved so she was no longer straddling his body.

He surprised her when he straddled her. He bent his head and kissed her longingly, and with passion. His mouth pulled at her bottom lip, and explored her open, willing mouth and tongue. He fell off her and said, "Enough for now."

She propped up to her side, and placed her head on his chest. "You show amazing restraint, Malfoy."

"Not really," he laughed.

"Would you have ever told me who you were, if we hadn't decided to meet?" she asked.

"I don't think so. I had opportunities to do so. That last time I saw you at that charity event, I wanted to tell you so badly. It was all I thought of all night long. I sat at the table beside you, you know," he said.

She caressed his face and said, "I know."

"You would have already been pregnant, wouldn't you have?" he asked.

"Yes, about four months along. You know, I wanted to tell you I was pregnant in so many letters. I was happy, and it was important to me, but I hid it from you, and that made me feel guilty. After I lost my baby, I kept thinking about that. I wondered, for just one millisecond, that maybe because I denied to you that I was pregnant, that was the reason I lost it. I mean, I know that was irrational, but that thought went through my head."

He sighed and touched her cheek. "I know it wouldn't have made a difference. I would have still loved you. I have to admit, I might not have asked you to meet me, and run away with me." He just thought of something. "Is that why you asked me to drive to the park? Is it because you were pretty far along, and you knew if we ran off together, you wouldn't be able to apparate?"

She didn't want to answer, but she did. "Yes, that was why. I was driving there to meet you as well." She swallowed hard. "I ran out of my house, with my suitcase, and Roger's car was behind mine in the driveway. We lived in a Muggle neighbourhood, and since I always drove back and forth to places, he did as well. I had to use his car to leave that day, since it was blocking mine."

He was still confused. It sounded like she really did come to meet him. He wasn't going to ask her any questions. He would let things be revealed naturally.

When she offered no more of the story, he kissed her again. He put one hand on her cheek, and kissed her lips sweetly. "Enough," he said again, reminding himself, not her. He didn't want to get carried away.

"I am sorry about your paintings," she said again.

"I know. I'm sorry about your letters. I have to say I'm pleased that at least the ones you wrote me weren't too burnt," he admitted.

She sat up and scooted off the bed. "I'll miss them so much," she mused.

He understood. "I could re-write them, I probably have them all memorized," he said truthfully.

"I would almost take you up on that, but I probably have them all memorized too, so I could just re-write them, or something. It's just, these are what made me fall in love with you," she said. She started picking the partially repaired letters up, handling them carefully, and she placed them on the dresser, beside the tray.

"Throw me an apple, Eve," he joked, from the bed.

Without looking at him, she threw an apple that was on the tray over her shoulder. She grabbed the sandwich and started to nibble on it. She turned back around and said, "I think I will re-write your letters. I want to. I think it will make me feel better. May I take these down to your library, so I'll have the desk at my disposal?"

"Sure," he said, as he stood up from the bed. "But, I will really re-write them if you would rather, that way they'll be in my handwriting, or we could use magic to copy them."

"That's sweet, but most of these are probably repaired enough that I won't have to do much. I want to do it. It'll give me something to do. I want to be able to fix something from this whole mess," she concluded. She trotted down the stairs, and he stood on the landing, watching her retreating figure.

He was going to get to work as well. He ran up the attic stairs. He was going to repaint her picture, this time, with slightly smaller breasts.

_**Five months earlier, part of the story revealed, Roger's point of view:**_

_Roger Davies was having a difficult day at work. Hell, he was having a difficult life, period. His marriage was in shambles, work was killing him, and he was unhappy. His wife was thinking of leaving him. He knew she was. He felt powerless to stop her. She didn't love him any more. She was in love with a 'mystery' man, a former Death Eater, with whom she had been corresponding. Roger found this man's letters by accident. He read them, but of course. Now, he didn't know what he was going to do._

_He knew she had been unhappy for a long time. He was not jumping for joy lately, either. He worked too hard, too many hours, and he hardly paid her any attention. He didn't love her the way she needed, but that didn't mean he didn't love her._

_He knew she was hurting inside. He knew she had many scars. And he knew that he never wanted to hear her talk about them. She would start to open up about something that happened when she was a child, or something to do with Harry and Ron and the war, and he would tune it out. He did not know why he did that. Maybe he just didn't want to hear about her pain. He should have listened. He should have helped her carry her pain. He did not, and now he was paying the price._

_His wife was eight months pregnant with their first child, a boy. He kept thinking that this child would bring them closer. He had convinced himself that Hermione would not leave him and take their baby away. She would not. She could not. He read the last letter the man had written to her, and today was the day she was to leave him. If she were leaving, there would be nothing he could do to stop her._

_On the other hand, maybe he could. He told his staff he was going home for lunch. He never went home for lunch, but today, he was on a mission. He wasn't going to sit idly by and watch his life go out the door. He was going to stop her. He had to._


	20. Quiche and Misgivings

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 20 – Quiche and Misgivings:**

Draco had not stopped painting for one moment. He heard the chimes on the grandfather clock chime five times, and he could scarcely believe he had been painting for more than four hours. His stomach was starting to complain, as was his right hand and his back. He decided to go find Hermione, and perhaps they could have some dinner. He stood back from his painting, as he cleaned out his brushes. He was secretly happy that he had started this new painting. It was more realistic, more accurate. Granger would be happy as well, since this one had clothes. He laughed openly. At least this one he could hang out in the open, although he would have given a million galleons to have Monica look at the other one, just once.

He could care less about his other paintings. He had already put up most of his better ones, so the ones that were previously littering the attic were ones that he had not completed, or didn't care for anyway.

He felt the first portrait was of the Hermione he 'wished for' and this one was of the Hermione he had, and that made this one sweeter. He would still need her to pose. Not really, but he still wanted her to pose.

Hermione had finished her task in the library a long time ago. She was able to repair most of the letters. The ones she could not, she tried a 'copying spell', where she could charm parchment to copy what was written on another piece of parchment. She wasn't sure it would work on burnt papers, but it did, so in essence, she had his letters back, in his handwriting, but these were better, for they were brand new, and not worn out and torn, from frequent reading, like the other ones. She still was not happy that this had happened, but she no longer viewed it as a tragedy.

She went to the kitchen. She told the house elves she wanted to cook. She was a good cook. Roger always liked her cooking. She couldn't believe Malfoy was still upstairs painting. She decided to make a quiche and a large salad. Dinner was almost ready when she heard the grandfather clock on the second floor chime five times. She should go upstairs and tell him dinner was ready. Maybe she could sneak a peek of her portrait. She finished dinner, and then went to get Draco.

As she climbed the stairs, she imagined that this was what it would be like to be married to Draco. He could paint all day, she could busy herself in the library, and she could cook for them every night. It would be domestic bliss. She had the exact same set-up with Roger, but the difference was that with him it felt monotonous, mundane, even boring and blasé. With Draco, it felt right. She probably was reading too much into it. It probably felt right because she wanted it to feel right.

She started up the final set of stairs as he started down. "Hey, I made dinner," she said.

"You cook?" he asked.

"Yes, I cook, Mr. Caveman. I do lots. I clean. I cook. I smart," she said in a clipped, monotone manner.

"You're a barrel of laughs, Granger," he mumbled. He started down past her, as she continued up the stairs. When they were one-step apart, he grabbed her arm. "Where are you going? The kitchen's downstairs."

"I want to see the portrait. I know it probably isn't done, but I want to see the progress," she said.

"No," he answered.

She frowned and went to her right. He went to his left.

"Come on, Malfoy. It's a painting of me, I should be able to see me," she said. She went to her left. He blocked her again, by going to his right.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She frowned hard, and banged on his forehead with her fist. "Are the paint fumes killing your brain cells, Malfoy? I just told you, I want to see that painting." She tried her right again. He blocked her for the third time.

"Not yet," he said again. He went the other direction, in anticipation of her moving again.

"Why not?" she asked perturbed.

"It's not done." Step left, step right.

"Why are you being so evasive? You were going to let me see the other one." She tried to go under his arm. He sat sideways on the step, with his leg up on the wall. Let her get past now.

"Your dinner is getting cold, I'm sure," was his answer.

She gasped and said, "Is this one nude, too? Is that why you don't want me to see it?"

He smiled, looked at his fingernails and said, "It might be nude, or worse, I'm not the one to judge."

"Worse?" she gasped again. "What's worse than nude?"

He looked up, as if he was uninterested, and said, "Oh, I don't know, what you think is worse might be okay by me. I mean, how do you feel about sex acts being portrayed on canvas? You aren't a prude about that, are you?"

"Draco Malfoy, you better not have painted me having sex with you!" She tried to climb over his legs, but he stood back up and put his hands on each wall, and his legs out as far as they would go.

"Who said it was with me? Seriously, would that be so wrong, anyway?" he asked. He smiled. She frowned for the third time.

"Who am I having sex with, Malfoy!" she bellowed.

"Now, answer this first, do you think bestiality is a crime, Granger? Because, I could probably change the snake into something else," he said with a laugh.

She pushed him, and pushed him hard. She started to run up the stairs, to look at the damn portrait. He was still laughing, and he grabbed her by the lower legs, just as she reached the landing, and he tackled her, and they both fell down on their stomachs. She continued to crawl toward the easel, and he crawled up her body. He turned her to her back and straddled her lower body, knees beside her hips, his hands holding her wrists by her head.

She was breathing hard out of exertion. He was breathing hard out of excitement.

"Let me up!" she shouted.

He looked at her, shook his head no, and put his forehead on hers. He took three deep breaths, and then whispered, "Should I demonstrate the sex act from the painting, Hermione?"

"Draco, tell me you're lying about the picture, but be truthful, don't tell me you're lying, and lie about it," she asked.

He sat up on her and said, "Well, now you have me quite confused. What am I not allowed to lie about again? I can't lie that I will lie? What?"

"Draco!" she begged.

"You're so weird, yes, another name for Hermione. It's just a portrait. I even put clothes on you this time. There's no other person, no animals, reptiles, or anything immoral or improper. I think I even got your breasts the right size this time. I just don't want you to see it, not yet. Okay?" He spoke so softly and sweetly, that she had to agree. Of course, she craned her head to the right first, to see if she could see the painting from the floor, but it was covered with a cloth, so since she couldn't see a damn thing, she agreed.

"Fine, Draco. I concede, and you probably know that's a hard thing for me to do. Now, get off me. Our quiche is probably hard and rubbery right now."

"Just like the snake in the picture," he laughed, as he moved from her body. She gave him a hard glower, and he said, "I said there were no reptiles, I didn't say anything about rubber snakes." He stood up and offered his hand to her. He practically pulled her up.

They started down the stairs, with Hermione looking back several times, trying to figure out if she could out run him if she tried.

They finally reached the kitchen and started to eat, when he said, "I've never had dinner in the kitchen before."

"Even when you're by yourself?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, pouring her some wine.

"You've eaten snacks and breakfast in here, though, right?" she asked.

He thought for a moment and said, "I don't think so."

"Even when you're by yourself, and you've just fixed like a sandwich, or had some peanuts or pretzels, or a biscuit?" she asked. He shook his head no again. She was shocked. "You always eat in the dining room?" she asked.

"No, I've eaten on the patio, and in the screened porch, like we did that first night, even in my bed, but not the kitchen," he reasoned.

She took a big bite of her salad and said, "That's so, I don't know the word, but, well…" she trialed off.

"Odd?" he asked, trying to help her find the right word.

"No, I was thinking pretentious," she answered back.

"Pretentious?" he asked, offended.

"Well, yes, I'm sorry, but you have always been very pretentious," she said.

He pointed his fork at her, and a piece of lettuce flew across the table, and landed on her plate. He looked at the wayward piece of roughage, then back to her and said, "First of all, just because I was raised the proper way, and we ate in the correct room growing up, doesn't mean I am pretentious! Just because I haven't had bloody peanuts at the kitchen table, with a bottle of beer, and my gut hanging out of my dirty white t-shirt doesn't mean I'm pretentious!"

Hermione started laughing and couldn't stop. She said, "I would pay to see that! Oh lord, does your gut even hang out of your t-shirt? Do you own a dirty t-shirt? See, the fact that you equate eating at the kitchen table with a bottle of beer, a fat belly, and a dirty t-shirt is what makes you pretentious, not the fact that you were raised to eat in the dining room. If you would rather I could call you pompous, ostentatious or any other word, I could, but they all mean the same thing. What other rooms did you use only for their proper uses? Did you only powder in the powder room? Did you only lounge in the lounge? How about the drawing room, did you draw? Tell me what went on in the drawing room at the Manor, Draco?" As soon as she asked that question, she was sorry. She knew what types of things went on in their drawing room during the war.

His thoughts went immediately to the same thought that was in her head. The drawing room at the Manor was were his aunt Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Hermione with the Crucio curse during the war, over and over again, until Hermione almost died from the pain.

Neither said a word for a long time. Finally, Hermione stood up and said, "I'm a fool. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Please forgive me." She walked quietly out of the back door and sat down on a stone bench in the back garden.

Why was she taking the blame for something that happened to her? Why was she sorry? Draco would never forget that day, as long as he lived. It was the reason he still couldn't sleep at night. It was the reason that he had written to her in the first place, to seek her forgiveness. He had endured years of nightmares because of that year, but none as graphic and life altering as the night she was tortured, and almost killed.

Draco stood up and looked out the kitchen window. His mind went immediately to the day that he went to meet her.

_**Draco's memories of the day he went to meet Hermione:**__  
_  
_Draco Malfoy woke up that day worried. He slept terribly the night before, and all he could do so far that morning was sit and worry. Would she change her mind? Would she run away when she saw it was he? Would she hex him? Would she do all three, change her mind, run away, but hex him first? It was a tangled mess in his mind, and his nerves were raw. His feelings went from apprehension, to worry, to fear, to trepidation, and then back again._

_He reread Hermione's last note. It was not really a letter. He told her she didn't have to write again, if she agreed to meet him, just to come. However, he had received a short note from her that very morning. His heart thumped loudly as he took it out of the envelope. He almost didn't take the note off the owl's leg. He finally did, and all the note said was, **"Do you mind driving today? That way, we can drive away together, instead of apparating. I will drive as well, but leave my car at the park. I will be in a grey, four door, sedan. I would appreciate it. Love, Hermione."**_

_He thought she probably was worried of some Muggle seeing him apparating. She probably thought he forgot that it was a Muggle park in which they were to meet. He hadn't forgotten. He was glad that she had written that note. It meant she did mean to come today. She did._

_He still had three hours until 2:00 pm. Why the hell did he have to ask her to meet him so late? Why couldn't he have said 8:00 am? If he had said 8:00 am, he would already be with her, or hexed, one or the other._

_It was very cold out today. Would she bring a coat? Should he put some blankets in his car? How did she even know he had a car? Did he write to her and tell her once that he did? He actually owned several cars, but he didn't know if he had mentioned that to her. Did it matter? Why was he worrying about his bloody car?_

_He changed his clothes four times. It was all black each time, but still, different blacks and different clothes. He wanted to look perfect. He didn't want anything to ruin this. He loved her so much, and all he wanted was to be able to tell her that in person. He had lived with hate and regret for so long. Now, he just wanted to live with love._

_She had already forgiven him. That was the most important thing. He didn't want to have to spend any more time seeking redemption. He wanted them to get on with their lives. She had more to lose than he did. She was married. She had a life, a family, and friends. He knew that her grandmother died right after the war. She had mentioned that in one of her letters. He also knew that her grandfather died just that past April. However, she had mentioned her father and brothers were still around. He had met her father numerous times, and her brothers a few times. They seemed like wonderful, caring people. Consequently, she had a lot to lose. Maybe she would change her mind. He hoped not._

_He hoped that when she saw it was he, she would hear him out, and just tell him that she loved him._

_As his mother lay dying, she recommended that Draco right his wrongs, so that someday, when he was old and grey, and on his deathbed, he could die without compunction. She had regrets and she had shame. She had many. She did not want that for her son. For that reason, Draco promised his mother that he would seek forgiveness for his transgressions, before it was too late. He knew the first person to whom he would ask forgiveness was Granger. The night she was tortured in his drawing room at the Manor was the most relevant night of his life. It changed everything, for him at least. It held great significance, and if he could only seek forgiveness for that, he could die without regrets. He could not have felt guiltier if she had suffered at his own hands._

That night remained a vivid memory in his mind, as vivid as any other memory in his life. He could barely spend one night of the last eight years without dreaming of that event. He was not even sure why that stood out against all the other horrific events of the war, but it did. He had just gone to school with her; they really did not have a history. They were not friends, but still, he never really wished any of them any harm. He did not. He couldn't tell her that back then, but he told her that in his letters.

And she forgave him.

And more importantly, he forgave himself.


	21. Singing in the Rain

****

All characters belong to JKR

**Chapter 21 –Singing in the Rain: **

He didn't know how long he watched her from the window, but long enough that when he went back over to the table, his quiche was cold. He finished his salad, his glass of wine, and he called for an elf to clear the table. He went to the lounge, and sat in what he now referred to, at least in his own head, as her chair. He continued to watch her from the large arched windows. She stood up and started walking farther away from the house. He believed he should let her have her privacy, but it had been over an hour, and the twilight sky was grey, as if a summer evening shower was on the way. He had to follow.

He walked out through the screened porch and out the French doors. He saw her as she started across the rose garden. Should he call her name? He would just continue to follow her instead.

_**Hermione remembers the day she went to meet Draco:**_

_While Hermione was walking along the stone path, her thoughts went to that 'fateful' day. The day she was to meet Draco. She stayed in bed that day until she was sure Roger would be at work. She didn't want to face him. However, when she finally showered and dressed, and went down for breakfast, he was inexplicably still there. He was reading his paper, and drinking his coffee, at his normal place at the table._

_"Roger, it's after 9:00 am, aren't you going to be late?" she asked, praying he was not staying home that day._

_"Yes, well, I've had a slow moving morning. I'm about ready to go in. How are you this morning?" He seemed anxious._

_"I'm okay," she answered. She made some tea, and ate her cereal at the counter while the kettle was on the stove._

_He stood up, left his coffee cup at the table, as he did everyday, knowing she would put it in the sink. He folded his paper, as he did everyday, leaving it on the counter, knowing she would pick it up and put it in the bin. He walked over to her, kissed her cheek, as he did every day, knowing that his lack of affection was affecting her, but NOT knowing how to change things._

_"I love you, Hermione," he said._

_"I know you do, Roger," was the only way she could honestly respond. The whistle blew, and she ignored it as she watched him walk out the front door. She poured her water, drank her tea, and then sat at the kitchen table and cried for a solid hour._

_She went to her bedroom and packed her bag, but after she packed, she went over to her desk to write to 'her friend' and tell him that she couldn't make it. She wrote him yesterday asking him to drive, knowing she couldn't apparate anywhere this far along in her pregnancy. She looked at the short little note he wrote back. "I'll be in a silver SUV." That's all it said. How could she not show up, and break his heart? How could she show up and break Roger's heart? Why was life so hard?_

_How could she take her baby away from his father? Maybe the baby would be happier if his parents were happier, and she would be happier away from Roger. If she stayed, she would never know happiness again, she was convinced of that. If she left, perhaps they all would have a chance of happiness. Roger might find another woman, settle down, and be happy. What if her son's stepmother hated him as much as her stepmother hated Hermione? She couldn't do that to her baby. Her son._

_She screamed in frustration and threw a bottle of Roger's cologne across the room where it shattered and made the whole room smell like him. Great. She didn't even repair the mess. She just left it as it was._

_Hermione walked downstairs and put her suitcase by the front door. She was tired of all this back and forth. She needed to make a decision and stick to it. She decided she wasn't going. She would take her suitcase back upstairs later._

_It wasn't because she was afraid. It was because she wasn't, and that was what scared her. She took his last little note out of her pocket and put it on the kitchen table next to Roger's coffee mug. Who was this mystery man? She had wondered that so many times. What if it was someone truly evil and someone who was not sorry for anything he had done? What if this was an elaborate farce, a joke, at her expense._

_No, it could not be. It had to be real. She could tell by his letters that he was sincere. He was so open about himself. He had exposed himself in so many ways, just not his name. Of course, she never really pressed the matter. If she had, he might have told her who he was. He did tell her to keep an open mind when she met him that first time. Did that mean that he thought she would be surprised at his identity? That might not be a good sign. Good thing she had decided not to meet him. He might not be too happy to see an eight-month pregnant woman, either._

_It boiled down to two truths, which were undeniable._

_If she left, she would hurt her husband._

_If she stayed, she would hurt her friend and herself._

_She had lived her whole life for others; shouldn't she finally live life for herself? Life was short and precious, and a person only gets one chance at it, so they should make it good, she reasoned. She was tired of putting others before herself. Where was her reward for her selfless acts?_

_If only she had someone, one person to whom she could confide. If she tried to tell Harry or Ron about this man, they would turn on their 'Auror' mode, and want to investigate him. They would hunt him down and scare him away. Even if she was truthful to them and told them how unhappy her life was, they would tell her to be sensible, and to think things over. They would remind her not to throw away her whole existence for a man she didn't even know. Those were the things she would say if the roles were reversed._

_What should she do? What if her father had left his wife, as he had promised her mother he was going to do? He waited until the day they were to part to tell her that he was married, but then he promised her that he would tell his wife about them, and he would come for her. He never came, and Hermione's mother carried that grief the rest of her short life. Did she want her friend to abide the same type of grief? Her father went away, and didn't try to contact her mother again. He didn't even know he had a daughter until she was over three years old. Her mother may never have told him if she hadn't become ill._

_Hermione wondered how much easier and less complicated her life might have been if her mother had never told her father about her. She would have been happy with just her grandparents. After all, wasn't ignorance bliss? Hence, she should take her baby away and just never tell Roger where they were. The baby would be happy. Or not._

_She should have stopped writing to her friend the moment she found out she was pregnant. Hermione would take the brunt of the blame there. He might not even want children. Hermione wrote him right after she found out she was pregnant and asked him his thoughts on children. He wrote back that he thought they were okay. She laughed. She knew from his letters that he had a lonely and isolated childhood, and he had written several times that he thought he would not make a very good father._

_One time he wrote her and asked her if she wanted children. She was already five months pregnant when she received that letter. She wrote him back, and in her response she wrote that, yes, she wanted children, 'someday'. He didn't have to know that 'someday' was only a few months away._

_Perhaps he wouldn't want to raise another man's child. He might resent it. It might remind him too much of her ex-husband. He might hate it, and cause its childhood to be bleak and depressing, like Monica did to hers. Every time Monica looked at Hermione, she was reminded of her husband's lover. Would her friend feel the same about her child?_

_She finally made her decision. She would never submit her child to the same childhood she had. He would have two parents, and even if they did not love each other, they would love him._

_She went to go pick up her suitcase, to take it upstairs, when Roger came home. He told her that he knew about the letters. He begged her not to go. She tried to get a word in edgewise, to tell him that she was not going anywhere, but he just kept begging and pleading and it made her ill. Finally, he told her not to be selfish, to please think about their child, and to stop thinking only of herself._

_Damn him! If he would let her talk, he would have known that she **was** thinking only of their child, and she **had** decided to stay. She was so angry with him that she decided right there and then that she couldn't face another day with that man. She picked up her suitcase and ran outside. He followed. His car was blocking hers in the driveway. Well, she would just have to take his car. She left her keys on the table anyway, and he always left his in the ignition._

_She opened the back door and heaved her suitcase inside. Of course, Roger didn't want the neighbours to see them arguing, so he stayed by the front door. 'Goodbye, Roger', she thought. She backed out of the driveway, and started down the road, speeding because she was late. It was already two o'clock. Her little argument with Roger had made her late. Please, still be there! Please, wait for her!_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Back to the present:**

The rain finally started falling. It was a warm summer rain, and to Hermione Granger, the rain felt glorious. She thought that if the rain could just continue, it might wash away all her disgrace and guilt, and she could find peace. She started back toward Draco's house, when she saw him. He pretended to admire a pink rose bush. In the rain. Did he think she was stupid? He was following her, but he was pretending not to be following her, yet he was following her. How funny to pretend to take a stroll in the rain.

She walked up to him and said, "Nice evening for a stroll." The rain was splashing in her eyes. She put her hand over her eyes, on her forehead, so she could see.

"Yes, very nice," he said back, pushing his hair out of his eyes, off his forehead. "Listen, Granger, before you say something inane like 'I'm sorry', just please, think twice. Don't say anything. You have no reason to apologize, because you did nothing wrong. We both know what went on in the Manor's drawing room, and now neither of us has to mention it ever again. Likewise, let me be the one to say that I'm sorry. You know, that was the reason I sought you out originally, to apologize to you. There, that's my truth for the day."

Hermione wasn't even thinking of that anymore. She pushed her wet hair out of her face, and ran her hand across her forehead. She shook her head and said, "I don't have a truth in return for you, sorry."

"I gave you a truth," he reasoned.

"I'm tired of telling the truth. Let me lie to you instead," she said.

"I doubt you would be very good at it," he told her. He put his hand over his eyes now. "Give it a try, if you'd like. It won't be very good."

"I think I'm tired of lying, also, but I think I'm a better liar than you might suspect," she told him back.

"I doubt that, too. Keeping things to yourself isn't lying. A lie of omission is not a lie, no matter what anyone says. Now, give me your best lie." Draco put his hand on her arm, drawing her closer.

"Fine, I don't think you're pretentious. I think you are a pompous git," she said, shaking her head again to clear the rain from her eyes.

"That better be a lie, although I fear it's the truth. Consequently, you owe me a true lie," he said, "and then I'll tell you another truth."

"I love Monica," she said, grinning.

"I didn't say tell me the biggest lie on earth," he said with sarcasm. "You're bloody ridiculous, standing out here in the rain like this."

"Is that your truth? By the way, I don't seem to be standing out in the rain by myself. You were the one out here smelling the roses in the rain." She laughed. "Tell me another truth."

"Okay, I lied earlier when I said I've never eaten in the kitchen. I had a piece of candy in there once," he joked. "Let's get out of the rain, Granger."

He took her hand and led her back toward the house. They went into the screened porch, which offered only slightly more coverage from the rain. He sat down in a chaise lounge, and pulled her down with him. She stayed at the end, by his feet.

He began to tap her leg with his foot. She grabbed his foot and said, "Please, I bruise easily."

"I don't doubt that, come up here and join me, and I shall protect you," he said, holding out his arms. She moved so she was sitting between his legs, against his chest. His arms went over hers. "Should we go change?"

"No," she said simply. "Tell me, what about my letters made you fall in love with me?"

"I might have been in love with you before the letters," he answered vaguely.

"Right, in school you loved me." She smiled. She looked back at his face.

"Not love, but admired, just a wee bit," he said.

"Now who's lying?" she asked. Her hands rubbed his arms, which were around her stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" he asked. He felt her tense in his arms. He tightened his hold. "Don't ruin this moment by over-thinking things, Hermione. I'm not asking anything about that night. I want to know why you didn't tell me you were pregnant."

She thought for a moment. That was an innocent enough question. "I didn't tell you at first, because I never imagined that you would want to meet me. We had been writing for months, and we had even already declared our feelings, but you hadn't mentioned wanting to meet yet, and I felt that I couldn't mention it, and there wasn't really a reason to anyway. The baby was something between my husband and me, not between you and me." She didn't mean to be crass, but that was how she saw it at the time. "Can you imagine what you would have said if you saw me pregnant?" She knew asking that question was treading on thin ice.

"I might have just thought you had gotten fat," he joked. "You know, I tried to go see you a few times, before we even agreed to meet. I went to the Ministry, and even walked through your department twice. I drove by your house once. I really did. I was your own personal stalker." He kissed her ear. She moved her shoulder to push his mouth from her.

"I wish I had known it was you, all along. I should have asked. If I did, would you have answered?" she asked. She moved to face him, so her legs were over one arm of the chaise lounge, her back against the other arm.

"Truth time, again, Hermione. I really thought you had probably figured it out, even though I was still scared that if you hadn't, you might run away when you saw me. Deep down I believed you knew. Didn't you have a notion, at all?" He brushed his hand down her cheek, cupping her face, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her rain, kissed skin.

"I was in denial, but deep down, I hoped it might be you. But in all seriousness, I was never one hundred percent sure. I really wasn't. I don't know how I didn't know. I should have. You tried to tell me, and I was too afraid to ask." She threw her legs back to the ground, and pushed up off the chaise, her right hand on his thigh as she stood. "Wait here," she said.

She returned with a letter in hand. She sat back down at the edge of the chaise, and said, "This letter was the one that made me wonder if it was you. You wanted me to find out, and all I had to do was ask. It was one of the letters that was burnt the worse today, so I reread it many times today, and it reminded me that I had a suspicion it was you, and you had a wish for me to find out."

She began to read:

* * *

_Hermione, _

_I know it probably will not matter, but nothing is as it seems. It's only the way I want it to seem. I wish you knew me, the real me, everything, my name, my face, my thoughts, my past, my future. You've forgave me a long time ago, but sometimes I think that for true redemption to be offered, you have to tell the full truth, and that's something I have yet to do, and I want to. I want to tell you the truth, but I'm a coward, and I cannot muster the courage, but if you ask me, I will find a way to tell you who I really am._

_I'm afraid I've always been a coward. I hid behind my name and my persona, faking my way through life. I never knew back then that I would regret my actions later. I wish I had known. And believe me, if you would ever find out my name, I know you wouldn't feel the same about me. I would not expect you to. If you saw the real me, you would know that I really haven't changed that much, and I cannot change any more than I have. I want you to see the real me, but yet, I want you to see what you want to see._

_Let me continue to write to you, and continue to be all the things I pretend to be. Let me laugh and cry, and at night, when I'm alone, let me no longer hear your silent screams. I can take the best and worst of you. Can you do the same?_

_So see me, Hermione, the real me, and all I have to offer. Let me love and comfort you, because believe me; I don't want to feel this way any longer. I don't want to hide. If you ask, I would tell. I would reveal myself to you, if you ask this of me. I want to tell the truth._

_Nevertheless, we do not always get what we want. _

_Your faithful friend – ME_

_XOXO__  
_

She looked up from the letter and said, "Tell me a real truth."

"It's too late for that truth, Hermione, but here's the only truth that matters now. Listen to me carefully, for I mean what I say. If we can get over the whole thing that happened at Malfoy Manor, then we can get over anything. We can put it behind us, and move on. It'll be the biggest obstacle between us, so if we get over it, it'll be downhill from there. Whatever you're hiding from me, whatever you're afraid to tell me, it no longer matters, because it can't be worse than that."

"What if what happened that night at the Manor isn't the biggest impediment between us? What if there is a greater one? What if my one truth, the truth you've been so impatiently waited for, is even bigger than that? Can we get over it? Can you?" she asked. She put the letter on the floor, and ran back out the doors. He followed her back out in the rain. The rain was coming down harder. She was having trouble seeing. She had to increase the volume of her voice to be heard over the current torrential downpour. "Draco, I know you. You'll not be able to forgive yourself for this. I haven't even forgiven myself yet."

"I can't imagine whatever it is that you're afraid to share with me is bigger than what occurred that night, Hermione. Just tell me. Get it over with, and tell me!" he said.

"I can't, because just the fact that I was tortured by your aunt, which you had no culpability in at all, has caused you this much stress and guilt, then I know what I have to tell you will be too much for you, Draco. It will be too much for us. I don't know if I can ever tell you, and for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for us both." She started toward her father's farm. He reached for her arm, and she said, "I'll be back, don't follow me!"

"FINE!" he shouted through the rain. "I'm tired too, Granger!" She was already running blinding through the rain, as he continued to shout, "I'm tired, too!"

It had not even dawned on her until that very moment that the words she had just said to Draco were so spot on that it was ludicrous to think otherwise. He could not forgive himself for what happened to her that night eight years ago, so how would he forgive himself when he found out what happened to her the night they were to meet? She should never have gotten in the car with him that first day she arrived back home. She should have walked away and never looked back.

* * *


	22. A Peanut in the Eye

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 22 – A Peanut in the Eye:**

She arrived at the outskirts of her dad's property, just as the rain ceased. She was soaking wet, and she really had no reason to be at her dad's, but she didn't want to be at Draco's either. She was like a citizen without a nation, an orphan without a home; she regretted that her current state was just a metaphor for the greatest sorrow of her life, which was that she had a regret to belong anywhere.

She finally approached the house. Some of the family was sitting on the side porch, per usual, with their after dinner drinks in hand. Michael waved at her, being the first to see her. Young Erin came running off the porch toward her. Hermione was nervous as the young girl sloshed through the mud. Monica always hated mud.

Erin ran up to her and said, "Hello, Hermione. Where have you been?"

"At Draco's," Hermione said plainly. The little girl took Hermione's hand. Hermione felt glad for its warmth.

"Martin told me to call him Dad, isn't that great? I've never had a dad before," Erin said. Hermione stopped walking.

"He will be a wonderful dad to you, Erin. I'm happy for you." Hermione bent down and hugged her tight. She almost envied the little girl.

"Mummy said that you might let me call you Aunt Hermione, but I have to ask if it's okay first," Erin said, unabashed.

"Sure, if you want," Hermione said back.

"I have a secret, too," Erin said. She took Hermione's hand again, and began to walk with Hermione toward the house. "My secret is that Draco's story was the truth. I can tell you, because you're magical just like him, and so is Martin, although he didn't get to go to your special school and learn how to use his magic. I can't tell anyone else, though, and Mummy said that I'm never to talk about it to Miss Monica."

Hermione merely nodded. She realized that Martin must have told Maureen everything, including how his mother had treated Hermione her entire life. "So, you have to call Monica, Miss Monica?" Hermione asked.

Erin grinned at her and said, "Martin said he's Daddy, you're Aunt Hermione, Mike is Uncle Mike, and Dr. Granger is Granddad, but that Monica was Miss Monica, but I don't mind, I don't think I like her very much."

Hermione grinned and leaned down and said in her ear, "I don't like her very much, either."

When they reached the house, Monica was absolutely staring daggers at the two. Erin ran back up the porch and Monica said, "Don't go back in the house with your muddy shoes."

Maureen gave Martin a knowing look as he came out of the house, and said, "Let's go get a bath, Erin." She walked past Hermione, smiled at her, and walked off to Martin's house, Erin trotting after her.

"What are you up to? Playing in the rain?" Martin asked Hermione.

"Something resembling that, actually taking a walk, and I got caught in the rain," Hermione explained, looking down at her wet attire. "Where's Dad?"

"Inside," Michael said, answering before his brother did. He looked over at his mother and then at his brother. He took Hermione's arm, and led her to the front porch, so his brother and mother couldn't hear them. "I think you might want to go back to Draco's house," he told his sister.

"Why?" she asked. Didn't anyone want her?

"Roger's inside. He ate dinner with us," Michael told her.

"WHY?" she asked again, but for a completely different reason.

"He came to see you. Look, Hermione, he didn't start the fire. Martin asked him directly. There was a big argument, worse than the fight between you and Mother yesterday. It seems that he did go to Draco's house, to find you, after mother wrote to him. He wasn't alone. Mother went with him. He said that he went inside the house by himself, looked around, couldn't find you, and he left. He said he did take your letters and the paintings, out of anger, but then he left them in the yard, so that you would know he had been there. He said he told Mother that he found your letters, and that he saw the painting, which confirmed everything in his mind. He told Mother that if you wanted Draco after what he did to you, you could have him. He said he apparated away right then and there, and left Mother there alone."

"You know what that means, Michael? That bitch burnt our things!" Hermione concluded.

"She says she didn't, but my guess is you're right, but I don't know why she would do that. Everyone is angry with her, Roger was furious when Martin accused him. Roger turned around and accused Mother as well. He came back because he said he still needed to see you. He had to talk some sense into you. That's when Martin confronted him about the fire," Michael said to her. "That's not all. He said he contacted your friends Harry and Ron. They should be here shortly. I think they all plan to confront you at once. Please, go back to Draco's." Michael didn't like to face up to problems. He liked to run away from them. He wanted his sister to run away as well. There was one flaw in that plan...she was tired of running away.

Hermione was so livid she was red in the face. She stormed off the front porch and climbed the few steps back up the side porch. It was as if Monica knew she would come back, because she was waiting for her.

"Roger told us how you lost your baby," Monica bragged.

"Shut up, Shut up, SHUT UP!" Hermione shouted. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. "You burnt our letters! Your burnt Draco's painting!"

"Yes I did, you whore! That picture was immoral! Those letters were a testament to what a depraved person you are! I knew you were no good, with no integrity or morals, but for you to take up with Draco after what Roger told us, well, you aren't all there! You're sick! You're an evil, sick, girl! Thank God, Roger left you! Thank God you didn't have a baby, for it would have had a monster for a mother!"

Dr. Granger and Roger came outside when they heard Monica's outburst. Martin was already standing by Hermione's side. Hermione did the only thing she could think to do to shut the woman up for the last time. She drew her wand.

"You're the only sick monster here and I should have done this a long time ago!" Hermione shouted. She pointed her wand at Monica and said the first curse that came into her mind. Streaks of white and red lights emitted from her wand, as her stepmother fell backwards, completely off the porch, where she landed in the mud, knocked out cold. Her husband and sons ran off the porch toward her.

Roger ran up to his ex-wife's side and said, "Hermione, no, you'll get in trouble. She's a bad, evil woman, but she's not worth you going to prison!"

She whipped around to Roger and said, "You told them!"

"Yes, I did. How could you be with him, Hermione? I know you didn't derive a conclusion that he was the man who wrote you, until he told you, but still, the moment you got here and saw him, why did you stay? Why did you become friendly with him? When you found out that he wrote those letters, why didn't you run away from him as soon as you could? It's his fault that we lost our baby!"

"NO!" Hermione put her hands over her ears. "NO! It's my fault, it's my fault, and the responsibility and burden lies solely with me!" She ran away from the house, off the porch, and slipped in the mud. Martin and Roger ran toward her, to help her to stand. She pointed her wand at all of them, as she lay in the mud. She did feel solely to blame for losing her baby, but she knew that Draco would feel the same as Roger did, if he found out the truth.

Draco appeared and he literally, with his hands, pulled her up and took her wand from her. "Granger!" he shouted, "What are you thinking?"

She turned to Draco. How much had he heard? She ran away, fast. He and Martin alone followed.

Martin finally shouted, "Hermione! Stop! I'm too old to run like this!" He bent over at his waist, hands on knees, breathing hard.

She didn't care. She didn't stop running. She ran to Draco's house, with Draco right behind her.

She turned to him with a wild look in her eyes and said, "Put up wards! Don't let them come here!"

"Who?" he asked confused.

"Anyone, don't let anyone in the house!" She ran up the stairs, scared of the unknown.

He didn't ask questions. He also didn't do as she requested. He hadn't heard the exchange between her and Roger, all he saw was her run away, fall in the mud, and then point her wand. That was when he ran up to her and grabbed the wand from her.

It was much later before she came back downstairs. She had taken a hot bath, and had slipped on one of Draco's long t-shirts. She walked down the backstairs, which led to the kitchen. She was surprised that Harry and Ron were not already there. Did they know the truth as well? Did everyone know but Draco? What the hell were they all going to do, have a stupid intervention with her? Tell her, listen Hermione, it's wrong for you to be happy. You must be miserable to exist.

She smiled as she walked in the kitchen. There, at the kitchen table, was Draco Malfoy, eating a handful of peanuts.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked. She sat across from him.

"Well, you made such a fuss spouting the laurels of eating peanuts in the kitchen, so I thought I would see what was so great about it," he said, popping another peanut in his mouth.

"Where's your dirty t-shirt?" she asked.

He grimaced and said, "I hate to say this, but I think you might be wearing it. Did you get that from the hamper?"

"No, your dresser," she said.

"Snooping in my drawers?" he asked, grinning.

"Just your dresser drawers." She grinned back. "Let me see your gut hanging out."

He lifted his shirt, but his stomach remained taut and tight. "Sorry, I'm trying hard," he said. She reached across the table and patted his stomach.

"Give it a year or two," she said, sitting back in her chair.

"Open up, Granger," he said. He held up a peanut. "Let's see if I can hit my mark."

She opened her mouth and he threw a peanut, and it went past her head. She looked behind her and said, "Bad throw, Malfoy, bad throw. Try again." She opened her mouth again.

He aimed, fired, and this time it hit her cheek. She shook her head and chortled. He said, "It's harder than it seems, Granger. And your mouth is so big, too."

"Funny, let me try," she said. She grabbed some peanuts out of the bowl, and he opened his mouth. She got one in on the first try. "I am the queen peanut throwing, all bow to me," she said. She stood and took a bow.

"If you can do it, I bloody well can," he retorted. He grabbed another handful and she opened her mouth. He threw the whole handful at her. They splattered her face, and she yelped!

'My eye!" Her hand flew to her right eye.

He laughed and said, "That wasn't nice of me, was it? That was very pretentious!" He walked over to her and removed her hand from her eye.

"You're a git," she said.

"Yes, yes, remember, a pompous git," he said. He kissed her closed eye. "Does that make it feel better?"

"No, slobbering on my eye doesn't make it feel better," she snapped. She tried to open her eye, but it was red and watery. He pulled her to a standing position, put his arms tightly around her waist, pulling the t-shirt slightly up her bum, as his right hand skimmed the hem of the shirt, likewise, skimming the top of her knickers. He kissed her right cheek, then her left, then her mouth, with feathery fine kisses.

"Now is it better?" he asked.

"A bit," she said. Her legs suddenly felt like jelly.

He put his face next to her neck and for some reason took a big whiff. She smelled like a slice of heaven on earth. He kissed her long neck with the lightest touch, up her neck, down her neck, up her neck. She truly was no longer standing on her own. If his arms had not been around her, she would have fallen. She had never felt this way about anyone in her life.

He reached down and pulled the t-shirt up a bit more. It only went to her mid thigh, so it didn't have far to go to be considered indecent. His right hand was under the cotton shirt, resting above the elastic of her knickers. His left hand was on the back of her neck, holding her head as his lips continued to play at her neck. She was breathing hard and she made a funny sound in the back of her throat. Her hands were holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

Her previously paralysis legs were now pressed tightly together, but not for long. He reached down with his right hand and hooked her leg over his hip. He kept his hand on the underside of her knee.

Without warning, he let her go, and she almost fell. He sat down on one of the hard kitchen chairs, and pulled her toward him roughly. He forced her to straddle his lap. She could feel his need against her want and she was on fire. He put both hands on her face, just temporarily, forcing her to face him. His mouth descended quickly on hers, ravishing it with hunger and necessity. She felt embarrassed by the way that she was sitting on him, but she also felt daring and alive for the first time in her life. This was better than last night, and they had made love last night.

She began to kiss his neck, and with total abandonment, he threw his head back and let her continue. She reached down and pulled his shirt off him, discarding it on the ground. He hoisted her up a bit, both hands on her bum. He reached around the front of the t-shirt and placed his right hand on her left breast. His left hand stayed on her bottom, as they once again kissed with passion, tongues dancing together, skimming the other.

He reached down and pulled off her shirt, well, his shirt, which she wore, and threw it over his shoulder. His mouth began to explore her chest, hands on her back to keep her from falling. There was a rap at the front door. She looked shocked and said, "I thought you put up wards!"

"I did," he lied. In truth, he saw no need. She scrambled off his lap, and he winced from the pain of losing the contact with her body, which his body so desperately needed.

"Damn it, Draco, I don't want to see anyone," she said. She threw the t-shirt back over her body and she ran up the backstairs. He cursed and went to answer the door, leaving his shirt off and his erection hard.

He opened the door, part way, saw two men outside, and said sarcastically, "This day just keeps getting better and better. What the blazes are you doing here, Scarhead and Weasel?"

"We have to see Hermione, Malfoy, don't be an idiot," Ron said.

Being a bit more diplomatic, Harry said, "Draco, we need to see Hermione," and he put his hand on the doorframe.

"She doesn't want to see anyone, so leave, this is my house, and neither of you were invited here," Draco said. He tried to shut the door, but Harry shouldered the door open.

"Go tell her we're here. If she tells us to leave, we'll come back tomorrow, but I guarantee, we will come back tomorrow," Harry commanded.

Hermione sat on the stairs, eavesdropping on the conversation. What should she do? It seemed that Hermione had no choice. The final show down was coming, whether she wanted it to or not.


	23. Choices or Fate?

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 23 – Choices or Fate?**

Hermione walked down the back staircase and through the kitchen. She called out to Malfoy, "Draco, come here."

Draco glared at her friends for a moment and said, "Sit in the lounge. Don't make yourself comfortable, and do not touch anything. I happened to have this room memorized, and I'll know immediately if anything is taken." He pointed toward the lounge and walked into the kitchen.

"Do you want them to leave?" he asked.

"Have you ever met Harry Potter?" she asked, incredulously. "He's the most stubborn man I've ever met. If he says he'll be back, he'll be back. I might as well get this over with." She started out of the kitchen door and he grabbed the back of her t-shirt.

He pulled her up to his body and said, "May I suggest clothing?"

"Oh, right. Tell them I'll be right down." She ran back up the stairs. She pulled on some jeans, trainers, and put her hair back in a high ponytail. She looked around for her wand, but she didn't know where Draco had put it. She was ready for the onslaught. She felt her Gryffindor courage return. Perhaps it was because it was Harry and Ron, and she knew she had nothing to fear from them. Perhaps it was because it was time. On the other hand, perhaps her courage had never really disappeared. Perhaps it was always inside of her, buried beneath her regret, rage, and shame, trying to dig its way out the whole time. Whatever the reason, it was time.

She trotted back downstairs. She walked into the lounge to see three uncomfortable looking men. Ron and Harry stood from the couch when she entered. Draco stayed in 'her' chair.

No time for formal hellos, Hermione got started. "So, Roger called you, did he?"

Draco finally stood as well.

"Yes," Harry answered.

"Did he tell you everything?" she asked.

This time, Ron answered. "No, he thought you should. He said you might be in trouble, maybe even under the Imperius curse, for he couldn't find any other reason why you would be with Malfoy."

Draco snorted, but Ron continued, "He said that you needed your friends. He told us you would tell us the rest."

Hermione looked over at Draco, back to her friends, and said, "You all think I have to be under the Imperius to be happy?" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Roger told us Malfoy was the man with whom you had corresponded." Harry looked right at her as he said this.

Hermione decided she didn't want anything else said in front of Draco. She turned to him, took his hand, and said, "Draco, I've decided something. I'm finally going to trust you with the truth, but before I do, you have to promise me two things."

He looked over her shoulder at her friends. She put her hand on his chin, forcing his face back to hers. He nodded his confirmation. "First, I want you to leave Harry, Ron and I alone for a while. I don't want you to interrupt us, or eavesdrop. We can leave your house if you would rather, but I'd like to stay."

"What else?" he asked. He wasn't sure he could agree to that first concession. She took his hand and led him to the foyer.

She said, "No matter what, I will tell you my story as well, after I tell them, and maybe not tonight, but no matter what, you have to promise me that you won't lay blame, and you will forgive. Promise me that, or I will leave here right now, and take my story to the grave."

He felt flushed. "Why don't you trust me? I already told you that no matter what it is you think you've done, I would forgive you anything."

She felt frustrated. She took a ragged breath in, and felt tears burn her eyes. "No, that's not, I mean, I'm not saying that. You have to forgive yourself. Remember, I've already forgiven you, and I'm no longer talking about the night at the Manor, or anything from our correspondence. You must remember these words: I've already forgiven you, and for me to carry on, you will have to forgive yourself, or else we have no hope for a future together."

So many questions went through his head, but it was not the time or place to ask them, so he said, "I promise." If she wasn't talking about the night at the Manor, what was she saying? What had he done that he needed to forgive himself? He felt confused, but said, "I'll leave for a bit. When I come back, promise me you will still be here."

"I will, but you don't have to leave. We 'll go out back to talk," she said.

"It's getting dark," he told her.

"All the better," she answered cryptically. Maybe the dark would make it easier to tell her best friends her dark secret, which was that she didn't blame Draco Malfoy for anything, and that she loved him more than life itself. Maybe in the mask of darkness, she could finally admit that to herself, and admit that no matter what, she wouldn't change a thing. That was something for which she would have to forgive_ herself_. She also had to forgive herself for the fact that when everyone assumed she was only mourning her baby, she was also mourning losing her friend. She said, "I need to get my wand. Is it in your room?"

He was without words, so he nodded again. She ran back upstairs, and he went back to the lounge. He looked at her friends and said, "She went to get her wand. Keep that in mind before you bully her around."

"You're the only one who ever bullied her, Malfoy," Ron spat.

"Not bloody hell likely," Draco said. "Didn't you chaps, her so-called best mates, ever ask her what type of hell she went through when she was a girl and she would come here? Her father's wife treated her like a piece of dirt, as if she didn't belong. How could you not know?"

Harry spoke, "We had a suspicion, which was confirmed tonight by Roger and her brother Martin, just a while before we came here. Don't preach to us about Hermione, Malfoy. The fact that we were ignorant to her pain will be our regret to abide, not yours."

Draco was glad that he at least knew about her pain, and he had been there for her, when even her own friends had not.

Hermione walked back in and said, "Let's go to the screen porch. Draco, remember, forgiveness." She opened the door from the lounge to the screen porch, and her friends followed. Draco went out the front door, and sat down on the porch. It was going to be a long night.

Harry turned the lights on with his wand. Hermione said, "Turn them off, please." He did as she requested. "Let's start with why you're both here. You aren't friends of Roger's. You've already done your friendly duties to me. You helped me when I was down. Now, leave me be while I'm happy. I can't believe you all thought I was under a spell. Yes, Hermione is happy, it must be a spell!" she said, sarcastically. "Must I be unhappy for my loved ones to be happy?"

Harry actually pushed her with both hands. Hard. She almost stumbled over. He said, "No one knows better than us how unhappy you've been since you lost your son! We've heard you cry behind closed doors. We've slept in the same room with you, because you've been too afraid to sleep alone! But we've tried to be there, even when you blocked us out. You've never really opened up to us, and I have a feeling you've kept things from your family as well."

"So what, Harry! My childhood wasn't idyllic. I happened to know that neither was yours! Do you really think I would want to compare the two? Because I think yours was ten times worse!" Hermione said sternly.

"What? Your childhood had to be worse than mine for you to confide in me? What does that say about me? When I told you I was forced to sleep in a cupboard, wear hand-me-down clothes, eat table scraps, and do all the chores, that meant I was a selfish git for sharing with you?"

"No, but…" she started.

"But nothing! I'm not Roger! Ron's not Roger! You didn't have to hide with us. You didn't have to play a role with us! Unlike him, we wouldn't have ignored you if we had heard you crying. But, you don't have to say another word about your childhood. Your brother filled us in on the particulars, and we know it was horrific, so for now, let's put that aside!" Harry turned away from her, full of anger. He was so angry he felt like hitting her. He did the next best thing. He turned back to her and said, "I never thought I would say this, but I am so ashamed of you!"

Her eyes grew wide and filled with the tears that had threatened to spill since her friends arrived. They were the tears for the ages.

Ron said to Harry, "Mate, you're out of line, that's not fair." It did no good; Harry knew there was no backing down.

"You're right Ron, it's not!" Harry said. "It's not fair to you or me. We have a one sided relationship with her, apparently. I think she's enjoyed playing the victim, the silent martyr!"

Hermione shook with anger, and her tears fell freely. How could Harry be so hateful? She took out her wand, but Harry actually grabbed it from her and threw it on the ground! She couldn't believe she had been disarmed twice-in one day, and both times by someone 'grabbing' her wand. "How can you say that, Harry?" she screamed.

He looked at her and said, "Because nothing else explains it, Hermione! Nothing else explains why you never told us how badly you were treated here! Nothing else explains why you didn't tell us you were in a loveless marriage! And nothing else explains why you didn't tell us how you lost your baby! You've hidden your fears and cried you last tears, behind closed doors and with a closed heart! I won't allow it any longer! You won't suffer any longer! You've suffered enough all these years! If you don't enjoy the suffering, then let it end, right here, right now!"

She walked over to him so suddenly that Ron drew his wand, afraid that he might have to restrain her. If she had her wand, she would have cursed Harry Potter right out of his shoes. Instead, she hit him with her closed fists, against his chest, neck, and face. It hurt, and he winced in pain, turned his face, but he didn't stop her or defend himself. He took her indignation and pain, because it was time someone else felt it, instead of her.

She finally collapsed at his feet. He took a step back, as Ron sat on the floor beside her. Harry remained standing, watching over her, and said, "This much is clear, and this much only. You had a terrible childhood when you came to your dad's farm. You were in a terrible marriage, to a man who didn't know how to love you. You fell in love with a man whose identity remained a secret until a few days ago, and when you went to meet that man, somehow, we don't know how, but somehow you lost your baby. Fill in the blanks, Hermione." He sat on the floor, on her other side, and took her hand. Ron put his arm around her. Harry said, "Believe it or not, I don't know what really happened to you to get you to this place where you are right now, and what reduced you to this person in front of me, but I know one thing, the truth will free your soul, Hermione. Tell us the truth."

_(That Day)__Hermione ran to Roger's blue car, and opened the back door. She heaved her luggage into the backseat, ran to the driver's side, and backed out unto their street. She looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was 2:02 pm! There was still time! Please, let there be time. Wait for her! She was coming! The park wasn't very far away, if she sped up, she might make it before he left. She was worried and anxious. What if he didn't wait for her? She kept her eyes on the look out for a silver SUV, just in case he didn't wait, and she saw him on the road. She would run him down if she had to._

_Roger ran back in the house, panicked. He didn't know what to do now. He had lost her, just like that. How many times had he heard her crying in the bath, or in their room, and he ignored it? More times than he could count. He never once went to see what was wrong. When she would start to talk about her childhood, he would gloss over everything and tell her it was in the past, and she should live in the present, never once taking into account that her past might affect her future. When she cried on their wedding day because her father wasn't there to walk her down the aisle, Roger told her to put on a happy face, for it was their wedding day, and they didn't want anyone to see her cry on her wedding day. He should have handled everything differently._

_"DAMN, BLOODY, HELL!" Draco shouted, slamming the hood of his silver SUV down as hard as he could. He didn't know why the damn thing wouldn't start. He didn't know shite about cars. He looked at his watch. It was almost 2:00 pm. He was going to be late. He should have left an hour ago, as he planned, but he didn't want to appear anxious, and also, he wanted to pack a few presents that he had bought for her. He didn't know if they would come back here to his house, or go directly away from the park. He knew they wouldn't go to the Manor that much was clear. He could apparate, and then after he met her, he could come back and get a car, since she seemed to think having a car with them was important. Wait, that probably meant she did want to leave right from the park. He cursed loudly again. He would take another one of his cars. Of course, she wouldn't know to look for him in another car. Well, at least he knew what car she would be driving. A four door, grey, sedan. He would watch for her. He grabbed his suitcase and her presents, put them in his black jaguar, and drove fast to meet her._

_Hermione was crying hard, and having trouble seeing the road. It was a grey, overcast, cold, rainy day, and visibility was already poor, without the tears. Damn Roger, anyway! Why wouldn't he just listen to her? He never listened to her. Never. How many times had she tried to tell him how unhappy she was, only to be told to buck up. Well, 'buck' this, Roger! She flew down the rain soaked road, as fast and furious as she could. Her friend wouldn't wait for her if she didn't hurry. He would be looking for a grey sedan, not for this blue car. She pushed the accelerator closer to the floorboard. Up ahead, she saw the flashing lights of a train crossing. The crossing gates had not yet closed. Perhaps she could rush across. She stepped on the gas harder than ever._

_When Roger first saw the letters, he should have confronted her, but the truth was, he didn't really know if he even wanted to. Well, he wanted to now, but not just for her, but also for him and their baby. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed her keys out of the bowl on the table. He saw a note by his morning coffee cup, in that man's handwriting. It said he would be in a silver SUV. He already knew where they were to meet. Good, it wasn't too late. He ran out the door, and drove after her._

_Draco Malfoy looked at his watch. It was after 2:00 pm now. Ten minutes after. She would show up at the park, and assume he had chickened out, or not waited. If she showed up and thought he stood her up, he would never forgive himself. He should get out of the car and apparate there; he could always come back and get his car after he arrived there. Of course, Hermione didn't know she had agreed to meet the dreaded Draco Malfoy. She might see him standing there, and drive on past. She wouldn't even get out of her car. No, he needed the coverage that his car would afford him. He was only a few blocks away now. Thank goodness, traffic was light._

_Hermione was going to go right through the train crossing. She had no choice. At the very last minute, she slammed on her brakes, thinking about her baby, and not wanting to risk his life. Her car fishtailed as she hydroplaned on the wet pavement. As her car came to a stop on the wet surface, the train's whistle blew and it flew past her car. She banged on the steering wheel and cursed to the heavens. She was so late!_

_Roger had no idea where the park they were to meet was located. Her friend mentioned something about meeting in the park near her primary school. Roger was ashamed to admit that he had no idea where his wife went to school before Hogwarts. He was finally going to pay for his inattentiveness to his wife. What was really sad was that he knew she had told him about this park before, but again, he didn't listen. Numerous times, she had told him, in fact. He would stay on this road, and hope he would catch up with her. He desperately had to find her and stop her, before it was too late._

_Draco was chanting to himself, "Be there, be there, be there." He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't. He wouldn't survive._

_Hermione got out of the car and continued to rant and rave. She even kicked the car. Maybe she should apparate. No, she wouldn't risk hurting her baby apparating this late in her pregnancy. She would never do anything to hurt her baby. She would give her life for her baby. She would give her happiness as well. She would get back in the car, turn it around and go home. She had no other choice. The train stopping, Roger coming home early, her indecisiveness, they were all signs that she needed to stay where she was, happy or not._

_"Bless my luck!" Roger said aloud as he saw Hermione's car. She must have stopped for a train. He wasn't too late. He hadn't lost them! He would have time to talk some sense into her. Tell her not to be so selfish! Maybe they weren't in love, but they cared for each other. There were redeeming qualities in both of them. She alone didn't have the right to decide their fate._

_Draco was driving eastbound toward a four-way stop intersection. Should he stop or speed up? Time was running out, he was almost there, and he hadn't passed a car the whole time he had been on the road. He only had to get through this intersection, and the park was only a few blocks after that. He pressed on the gas. He wouldn't lose her, not now, not ever._

_Hermione saw Roger driving her car, coming up behind her. She didn't know what possessed her, but she got back in his car, and sped off. She couldn't go back to him. She couldn't. She would sooner die. She pressed on the gas and sped over the railroad tracks. She was driving northbound toward a four-way stop. She knew all she had to do was turn left at the four-way stop, and travel a few blocks more, and she would be there! Please, don't leave without her! Wait for her! She came upon the four-way stop, and slowed down just enough to make the left hand turn._

_Roger drove fast behind her, and watched in horror as his wife flew over the tracks, and turn without even stopping at the approaching intersection._

_Draco Malfoy approached the intersection without slowing down. He was traveling an ungodly speed, and he saw out of the corner of his left eye a little blue car, which apparently had the same idea he had, to go right through the stop. He didn't care. That person could wreck and die for all he cared! They would have to stop for him. He sped up faster, his foot to the floor, and went right through the intersection without looking back._

_With her peripheral vision, Hermione saw a small black car speed through the intersection, before she could make her turn. It clipped the front of her car, sending her spiraling, forcing her to slam on her brakes, although they did her no good. She skidded, slid, and screamed._

_Roger braked before he slammed into his wife. As if everything from that moment was in slow motion, he saw a black jaguar hit the front fender of his blue car, sending his wife careening around in circles. He looked at the black car and knew one thing for certain, the driver was someone they both knew. It was Draco Malfoy. The personalized license plate stood out as well, as it said, "MALFOY". He turned back to look at his wife's car, and as he ran out of the driver's seat of the grey sedan, he saw the small blue car go off the road and down into a ditch._

_Draco had a moment of regret about the blue car, but as he looked quickly out his rearview mirror, he saw a man running across the intersection. There, someone would help the person. He had to meet Hermione. He was so late._

_Hermione never lost consciousness. She would have preferred it if she had. The car landed in the ditch. The airbag had pressed against her belly. She had searing pain in her lower abdomen. She knew she had lost her baby. Somehow, she just knew. She began to cry. _

_Roger rushed down the ditch, and opened the car door. His wife had a large laceration on her head, and as he pulled her from the car, he had trouble maneuvering her around the airbag. He didn't give it another thought as he apparated her directly to St. Mungo's. He hoped it wouldn't be too late. He ran with her in his arms up to the front desk._

_Draco arrived at the park at 2:17 pm. Where was she? He saw no sign of her car. Had she changed her mind? He waited in his car for ten minutes, and then he waited outside his car for fifteen more, then inside another twelve, outside twenty more. She must have changed her mind. He went home, after waiting a total of four hours! The evening sky replaced the grey afternoon, and he went home and cursed the day he ever met Hermione Granger. He cursed the day he wrote her that first letter. He cursed the tears that fell for her. He got drunk, he wrote her a goodbye letter calling her all sorts of bad names, he sobered up, threw that letter away, and he wrote another telling her he loved her and goodbye. He never sent it._

_Hermione never felt sadder or more alone her entire life than the day the healer placed her baby's lifeless body in her arms. If it wasn't for the fact that it was stone cold, it might have just looked asleep. Roger didn't want even to see it. Her poor little baby boy died. She rocked back and forth, sang it a song, and stroked its little black curls on its head. It was singularly the saddest, most profound, moment in her life. She named him Kevin Richard, after her grandfather and her father. They had a small graveside service for him the day she got out of hospital._

_The day she got out of hospital, Roger told her he was leaving her. He had only wanted to save their marriage because of their baby. Since the reason no longer existed, he no longer wanted to be married. He told her he forgave her. He told her he drove past the park an hour after he took her to the hospital. He told her there was no silver SUV. He told her that her friend couldn't even wait an hour for her. The truth was, he never went back to the park. He just wanted to rub salt in her wound, not even realizing that nothing he could say could possibly make her feel worse than how she already felt._

_Months later, Draco Malfoy went to his parents' old summerhouse. He secretly went there hoping that someday he might see her again. He knew that her father lived nearby._

_Hermione lost her baby, her husband, and her true love, in a mere second. What was a second? A unit of time, measured by a blink of the eye. Yes, in a blink of an eye her life was gone, just as if she had died. Her husband told her in the hospital that it was Draco Malfoy who caused her accident. He hoped it would cause her to feel even worse about things. She would let him think that, if it helped him. She knew it was all her fault, and she alone would shoulder the blame and guilt. _

_Roger wanted to confront Draco Malfoy, because even though he told Hermione it was Draco's fault, he really blamed them all. It was Hermione's fault for leaving him. It was his fault for letting her go, and it was her friend's fault for tempting her to leave. Draco's only blame was running a stop sign and driving too fast. In the end, Roger decided to leave it all alone._

Hermione finished telling her story, and as she rocked back and forth on the floor of the screen porch, her friends holding her tight, and crying right along with her, she said the only thing she ever felt like saying, but which summed up all her thoughts with one phrase. Through her tears she cried, "My poor baby boy."


	24. A Cup of Tea and Another Letter

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 24 – A Cup of Tea and Another Letter:**

"I'm so sorry your baby was stillborn, Hermione," Harry said. "I'm so sorry you had an accident, and I'm so sorry for the way it happened." He didn't know what else to say. She had continued her chant repeatedly until she could no longer cry, and no longer talk. Ron helped her to stand and they went back in the house, and he helped her to a chair in the lounge. Draco was pacing back and forth in the front foyer. Even from all the way in there, he had heard her crying. Now, he stood by the archway that led from the foyer to the lounge, and he watched as her friends stood by her chair, cooing words of comfort to her.

Draco had no idea what she had told them, but he had heard her anguished cries, and he frankly didn't care ever to hear them again. One thing in which he was certain, Hermione must have had her stillbirth while coming to meet him. That must be what she meant by him forgiving himself. That must be why she was so sensitive every time he had mentioned the fact that she never showed up. She must have felt it negated the fact that her baby died, or denied her pain, by denying that she never showed. She must have planned on showing, but in the process, she lost her baby.

Draco heard Harry tell her that he was sorry she had a stillborn baby. Maybe she had fallen down the stairs on her way to meet him, or maybe she slipped and fell on the pavement. It was very wet and rainy day that day. Maybe she had a car accident. Whatever the reason, he had promised her that he would forgive his responsibility in her loss, and he would do that, for her. She must have known that he would feel guilty; since she lost it the day that she was coming to see him, but seriously, he was a rational man. He knew he wasn't at fault. It wasn't as if he did anything to make her lose it. He felt bad about it, but bad things happen sometimes. There was nothing he could have done about it. He did not even see her that day.

He watched, as an outsider, as her friends continued to stroke her head, and pat her hand, and give her their sympathies. He didn't want to impose, but he wanted to be the one to hold her and tell her it would be all right, even if she felt nothing would be right again.

He slowly walked in the room and said, "It's really late." He did not know what else to say. He just wanted her friends to leave so they could get on with their lives.

Harry nodded his head toward Draco, and looked back to Hermione. "Do you want us to stay?"

"No, I'll be fine. I feel better, having gotten that off my chest. Thanks for coming and being supportive. I thought you all were planning some sort of intervention or something, like I'm a bloody alcoholic," Hermione said, finally smiling.

"What's an intervention?" Ron asked. Draco wanted to know as well.

Harry gave a chuckle and said, "Yes, we could take you to a MA meeting. Malfoy's Anonymous." She laughed as well.

"What's an intervention?" Ron asked again.

Hermione stood up and said, "Hello, my name is Hermione, and I'm in love with a Malfoy."

Harry and she both laughed some more. Ron looked confused, and Draco looked perturbed, not certain if they were making fun of him or not.

Harry said, "Hello, Hermione, how long have you been a Malfoholic?"

She laughed and said, "For about a year, although at first, I didn't know I was one."

They both continued to giggle, finding their humour hilarious, while Ron looked at Draco and asked again, "What does this have to do with whatever an intervention is?" Draco shrugged.

Harry asked, "When was your last Malfoy, Hermione?" He was still in character.

"Last night," she sniggered. She laughed so hard she snorted. She stood next to Harry, and they held on to each other, and continued to laugh.

"That's foul and I didn't need to know that, but hopefully, we here at the MA can cure you of that. I will be your sponsor," he waned.

"But that means you would have had to have been a Malfoholic at one time of your life, to be my sponsor," she stated. "When was your last Malfoy?"

"Oh, Merlin," Harry said. "I swear I was never a Malfoholic. That's disgusting!"

"WHAT'S AN INTERVENTION?" Ron shouted.

"It must be a stupid Muggle thing," Draco said. At least she was no longer crying.

"Thanks, Harry, not just for the laugh at the end, but for the tears in the middle, and the physical assault in the beginning," she said.

"I didn't mean to push you so hard," Harry explained.

"I meant when I beat you up," she said, pointing her finger at him.

"Ah, it didn't hurt. You hit like a girl, or a Malfoy," he said.

"Stop saying my name," Draco said. He still didn't know why they kept saying his name.

"When will we see you again?" Ron asked. He wanted to get home and find out what an intervention was.

"I'm not sure, but I will write. Bye, Ron, tell your folks hello." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Bye Harry, tell me when the next MA meeting is, and I will be there," she said, hugging him tight.

"If I thought you would really come, I would start my own chapter of MA, but I know it's no use. You're in too deep, aren't you?" He was no longer making a joke. He knew she really was.

"I love him," she said without airs. She really did. They were still talking about him as if he wasn't in the room, but this time, Draco didn't really care.

"I know, and it's time for you to have real love in your life. Take it easy on him when you tell him, and call me if you need me." He kissed her cheek, walked over to Draco and offered his hand. Draco had never shook Potter's hand, ever, but there was a first for everything. He reluctantly took his hand, and shook it. Ron merely nodded at Draco. Both men went outside to apparate home.

Draco walked over to the front door to watch them leave. He didn't want to go back in there. He thought it might be awkward around her. He walked back to the lounge and she was nowhere to be seen. He walked through the dining room, into the kitchen, and he saw her at the stove, as she put on the kettle. He continued to watch her silently as she took a cup from the cupboard, and started to make a cup of tea.

She turned her head slightly and asked, "Do you want a cup?"

"No, I'm dead on my feet. It's after 1:00 am. I'm heading upstairs." He turned to walk upstairs and he felt her hand on his arm. He hadn't even realized she had moved.

"We will be okay, Draco," she told him.

He turned to her, nodded, smiled a small, half-hearted smile, and went upstairs. Somehow, he didn't believe her.

As he walked up the stairs, he thought, 'No, I don't want a bloody cup of tea, I want to know what is going on with you, with us.' He wanted to know why she was crying one moment and laughing the next, and most of all, he wanted to know why he had to be the last one to know her secret. That hardly seemed fair. He slipped out of his clothing, left on his shorts, and pulled down the covers on the bed. He lay down on top, not bothering to cover with the sheet. The rain left the night air cool and pleasant. He wouldn't need a cooling charm tonight.

When she came upstairs, he wasn't even feigning sleep. The light on the bedside table was still lit. He watched as she put her cup of tea on the other table, and slip out of her jeans. She removed her hair out of the ponytail, sat on the bed, and took a drink of tea. She had brought her book in and it was beside her on the bed.

"When are you and I going to talk?" he asked.

"I don't have a specific date," she said. She climbed under the covers, and said, "Will it bother you if I read a while?"

What? Was she going to act as if nothing was wrong? Like they were some old married couple, who drank tea and read in bed? He turned to his side, turned out the light, leaving her in the dark. That was his answer. If she could read in the dark, more power to her.

She placed her book down on the bedside table, and turned on her side, away from him.

He said, "Is everything right as rain with you and your stupid little friends?"

"Yes," she simply said.

He turned to face her. He couldn't help himself; he reached out and touched her hair. "Where do we go from here, Granger?"

She turned to face him. "Please, can't we just sleep? I'm all talked out. I really am. I still have to talk to Roger tomorrow, straighten some things out with him. Give me a couple days of normalcy, and then we'll talk. Apparently, Roger's staying at my dad's until tomorrow. Harry told me he wants to talk to me before he leaves."

Draco sat up in the bed and said, "Why does he have to stay there?"

She sat up as well. "Would you prefer he stay here?" She tried to make it a joke. She could tell he was on edge, but she really didn't want to argue tonight.

"I would prefer that he bloody well go home and leave us alone!" Draco fell back on his back, took his pillow and put it over his head.

She picked up the edge of his pillow and said, "May I come in?" He turned to his side, with the pillow still over his head, facing her. She put her face under and with her nose against his, she said, "I love you."

"Maybe that's not enough," he said.

Hermione threw the pillow off their heads, toward the foot of the bed. "Listen, Roger and I need closure, so that's why he's still here. We will talk tomorrow, and after that, he'll leave. We both knew our marriage was doomed from the start, and it started unraveling the day of the wedding, but it ended too abruptly, and we need to fix that. It will not change anything between him and me or you and me. Okay? Now, stop being angry with me, it's not becoming." She put her feet on the floor and stood up. "I'll go sleep in the guestroom."

She took her tea and her book, picked up her jeans, and went to the guestroom. She went over and opened both of the windows. She pulled down the covers and to lay down. She pulled the sheets over her body, and felt like crying, but absolutely refused to let the tears come, as she had spent enough time crying today.

Draco sat up in the bed and out of frustration he pulled at his hair. Why was love so hard? He never imagined it like this. He thought it would be all nice, sweet, and making love all the time. Not heartache, sadness, and pain. He wished he could still write to Hermione, the way he used to. Maybe he could. He got out of bed, and went downstairs. He sat at the desk in the library, and wrote her a letter.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_It's been a while since I've written to you. I miss writing to you. I wish I could take away your pain, but only you can do that. I wish you would at least let me help. Maybe you're on the right track finally, but it feels like you're traveling away from me, instead of toward me._

_The way I see it, nothing has to change between us. Your sins still have nothing on mine, so why are you so worried? If you need a place to hide, or a place to clear your mind, come to me, and I will offer you peace.__  
_

___Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I came to you with my heart on my sleeve, bleeding profusely, and while I was waiting for you to help me, you came and lessened the pain. Your forgiveness was a tourniquet, and your love cauterized my wound. You gave me comfort from my nightmares, and helped me to believe everything would be okay again. That is an incredible gift that you gave me, so please, let me give it back._

_For me, nothing is different. I still fight every day to remain sane, to remind myself to breathe, and to try to forgive myself for your pain. I wanted the shelter of your forgiveness to give me life. I will offer you the same._

_The way I see my life is two-fold: My life before you and my life after you. It's like nightmares and daydreams. Let me explain._

_I used to live a life of nightmares. The nightmares came in the night or in the day. At night, I would hug my pillow so tightly that I would wake up screaming. I would be so afraid that I would have to turn on the light, just so I could stop the fear. My nightmares would rush in and take my breath away. I would see your life before me, and it was almost taken away, and I don't ever want to see that again, but somehow, I can't stop seeing it, even when I shut my eyes at night. I never want to hear your screams of agony again, as long as I live._

_Now daydreams replace the nightmares, and when they come in the morning light, I am always open to receive them, but I'm afraid if I turn around, they will walk away from me, and I will still be alone. You see, the daydreams aren't real, and my life is not real, and this fight that I feel is the only thing that seems real, and it's a fight just to wake up and live, and it's a fight I'm not willing to fight any longer, if you aren't there to help me fight. I can't do it alone; I will not do it alone. You need to be there for me, to keep my daydreams alive, and my nightmares at bay._

_Don't leave me alone at night, or in the day, and I will never leave you._

_Love, More than your friend,_

_Draco_

* * *

He signed it the way he always signed all of his letters, as 'her friend', but he also added his name, something he could never do before. He wouldn't give this to her. He wrote it for himself. He put it in the top drawer of the desk, and went back upstairs.

She couldn't sleep. She always had trouble sleeping. Night was when she missed her baby the most. She would lay awake thinking about what he would have looked like. Would he be sitting up by now? When would he have started to walk? Hermione walked at ten months. Sometimes she would imagine herself reading to him, or singing to him. It was not just a prosaic thought to say that her arms ached to hold him. Her arms really did ache to hold him. She went over to the desk, and withdrew a piece of parchment. She decided to write Draco a letter, a letter she would have written when her baby died, if she could have. She could write it now.

She wrote:

* * *

_**My Dearest Friend, my love, Draco,**_

_**I know I did not tell you this, but I became pregnant during the time that we corresponded, and on the day I was to come and meet you, I had a car accident, and my baby died. I couldn't drive the car you were expecting me to drive, because my husband's car was blocking it. I was rushing to get to you, and because I had a fight with my husband, I ended up taking his car. It was a small blue car. I raced to get to you on time, because I was afraid that you wouldn't wait for me. I almost outran a train, but I decided to stop. I didn't want to hurt my baby. After the train went by, I drove fast, approached a four-way stop, three blocks from the park, and I hardly slowed down to make my left hand turn.**_

_**The thing was, you were not in your silver SUV either. For some reason, you decided to drive a black sports car. You must have been late; because when you approached the same four-way intersection as I, you didn't stop either, and went right on through. You see, I was in the little blue car you hit.**_

_**I don't blame you, and I don't want you to blame yourself either. I will take the whole blame. Things happen, maybe for a reason, maybe for no reason at all, but we cannot change the choices we make, good or bad. We can just go on from there.**_

_**Let's go on, and share the love that we now have. It is our only choice.**_

_**I love you.**_

_**Hermione**_

* * *

She folded the paper in half, and slipped it inside her copy of 'Little Women', which was on the top of the desk. She placed the book on top of her suitcase, and pushed the suitcase under the bed. She didn't know if she would ever give it to him. She probably wouldn't. It would be easier to tell him in a letter, but not fair to him.

She went back over to the desk, took out another piece of parchment, and wrote another letter, this one, to her son.

* * *

_**To my son,**_

_**A tear falls through a foreign smile, and with that tear comes a crushing truth. The truth is that fate holds no mercy, neither for the unhappy nor for a life which was about to unfold.**_

_**You would have given me great happiness, and unknown to you, just the few months that I shared this body with you, I knew you were a gift from above, because you bestowed on me a wondrous grace and a peace of mind which I had never felt before, and I haven't felt since. I love you.**_

_**You were a gentle soul who knew no hatred, a loving child, and a looming presence that will forever fill my heart and soul with your special love. Each day that passes, your memory stays alive, and your inner light inside my heart grows forever brighter, just for the mere fact that you were in me, and I was your mother. My heart is still cold, my arms still empty, and my mind still filled with the question of why this happened. Will I forever bear this darkness, live in this barren home, always afraid of the dark? I am afraid of living a life without grace. I am afraid of living a life without love. Nevertheless, most of all, I am afraid of living a life knowing that you may never forgive me.**_

_**Wherever you are, know that you were truly loved in your short life, and will be forever, and for all time.**_

_**Love forever,**_

_**Your Mummy**_

* * *

Hermione pulled the suitcase back out from under the bed, took this letter, folded it inside the one to Draco, and put them both back in the book. She placed the book on top of her clothing, and then placed the opened suitcase back under the bed.

She pulled the chair up by the window, and sat down. This would be the first night in six months that she would sleep alone. Maybe it was time. She put her head on the windowsill, and stared out at the cloudy night. She couldn't see a thing in the darkness, and that was fine with her.

She heard her door open. She turned in the chair. He walked over to her, took her hand, and led her to her bed. He pulled the sheet over them both, and with her head on his chest, they both went to sleep.

The sunlight streaking through the opened window alerted Draco to the upcoming morning. He blinked several times, to try to make it go away, but that damn sun refused to do anything but shine. He sat up and saw that she was still sleeping. He decided to study her closely for a moment. He looked down at her face, and tried to count her freckles. He wasn't even sure that he had ever noticed them before. There weren't too many, nothing embarrassing like Weasel had, just a small splattering across her nose and cheeks.

Her hair was longer than she used to wear it. It was more a honey brown, than just plain brown. It was rich and warm. He never realized brown could be such a warm colour. She was slender, perhaps too slender. She was on her side, facing him and her hand was resting peacefully on the pillow by her head. She had long, graceful fingers. Almost artistic fingers. He looked down at his hands. His mother always told him he had long, artistic fingers.

He propped himself up on his elbow, and with his right hand, he traced a line from her hairline, to her nose, to her top lip, bottom lip and then ending at her chin. He leaned closer and touched one of her freckles. The one right under her closed eye. Was she really still asleep? He would soon find out.

He leaned over as far as he could without falling on her, and he kissed her lips gently, making a slight noise, which woke her up. She woke up so gracefully, that all she did was open her eyes and smile. His mouth came down on hers in an abandoned, wild kiss. She was so taken aback that she didn't know what to do for a moment. His hands were on her back. He stopped kissing her for a moment and looked at her intently. She placed her arms around his neck, he put one hand behind her neck and the other on her hip, and she kissed him back.

His lips played with hers, pulling on the bottom lip and then the top one.

He said, slowly, and almost poetically, "Making love in the morning is remarkable, and there's nothing like it, you know."

She took a deep breath again. He bent his head and captured her lips with his. He pressed them firmly and fully on hers. Her hands went from his chest to the back of his neck, holding him in place. His right hand traveled to the top of her back, between her shoulder blades, as his other hand stayed around her hip. He pulled her t-shirt over her head, and he pressed her body tightly into his. He could feel the softness of her body, as her chest pressed firmly against his chest. He rolled over to his back. He was full of desire. The events of last night faded from his view. All he knew was that he had her here and now, and she had him. He stopped kissing her to examine her face again. His hand went back to her neck. He spread his fingers in her hair, and wrapped a tendril of her hair around his index finger.

She kissed his neck, then his cheek, and said, "I really do love you." She had to take a deep breath to calm herself. She wanted to say so much more, but she could not ruin the moment. His supple lips started planting light kisses across her jaw, which was unraveling her resolve. He could feel goose bumps on her skin, and he knew that in the heat of the summer morning, it was from yearning, not cold.

Draco put one hand on one breast and touched it slowly. Hermione shut her eyes. He loved that just a simple touch to her breast could cause such a reaction. He glided his hand around her stomach, then her side, then her back. He moved his hand up and down her leg.

Hermione turned slightly back on her side, facing him, and she put her hand on his chest. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. She pushed him onto his back and leaned over him, kissing him all over, his face, neck and chest. His hands were roaming up and down her smooth back. The feel of her soft breasts against his chest made all the blood in his body boil with longing.

He pushed her back off him and Hermione was growing impatient with each second that past, with the prelude of what was to come. He kissed down her stomach, while his hands held her waist, resting on her ribs.

He kissed the top of her right thigh, and then her pelvic bone. His tongue and mouth slid over her hip and across her stomach, to her other thigh, leaving a trail, which heated her skin, even more than the humid air in the room. She softly hummed, which generated a desirable response from him also. As he was kissing the inside of her thigh, purposely staying away from his final prize, his left hand went up to her stomach, and then to her neck.

His lissome fingers touched places she longed to be touched. She only felt love for him.

"Please," she said softly.

He looked up and moved his body on top of hers. He said just as softly, "I love you, Hermione." He leaned over and kissed her neck, as her hands pulled down on his shoulders. He kissed her keenly, and she kissed him back. Longing nibbled away at him and he was afraid he might lose her any moment. His mouth stayed on hers as he moved his whole body on hers, and moved smoothly, with poise, into her. As they started moving in harmonized unity, Hermione's hands stroked his back. He kissed her mouth again.

He wondered how he could love someone so much.

They opened their eyes at the same moment, and looked intently at each other. Before either wanted it to end, it did. He moved to his back and his hand came to rest on her stomach, and he pulled her closer. She moved to her side, placed her hand on his chest, and her head on his shoulder. Draco put his arm tightly around her. He said, "You have to pose for me today, please."

"I would like that." She moved her fingers back and forth on his chest. "But I have to see Roger first. I'll talk to him this morning, and then spend the rest of the day with you. Okay?"

"That wasn't what I wanted to hear, but okay." He sat up and stretched.

She ran to the bathroom and said, "I get the shower first!"

He mocked her and said, "Fine, take the shower first!" He laughed.

She called from the bathroom, "Get my shampoo out of my suitcase! It's under the bed."

He pulled on his shorts, and lumbered under the bed. He reached for her suitcase, and pulled out a bag with her toiletries. He kicked the suitcase back under with his foot. Her book, which was resting on top, landed opened on the floor. He looked down at it, but didn't give it much thought. He ran her small bag to the bathroom, and reached in the shower to hand it to her.

"Thanks," she said from inside the shower.

He started to his room, when he decided something. He ran quickly down the stairs and got the letter he wrote her last night. He came back upstairs, looked toward the bathroom, and crept back to her room. He decided he would put his letter in her book and she could find it, and read it, and she would know what was deep in his heart, without him having to tell her.

He got down on his knees, and picked up the open book. As he brought it up to rest on the bed, he saw that two pieces of parchments had fallen out. Did someone else already put a letter to her inside the pages of her novel? He snickered when he thought of that. He picked up the folded letters, and put them in the front of the book, and he put his letter somewhere near the middle. He closed the book and started to put it back in the suitcase under the bed, when his curiosity got the better of him. He opened up one of the pieces of parchment that fell out of her book. It was a letter addressed to her son. He couldn't read it. He just couldn't. He folded it back up. He opened the other one. It started, **"My Dearest Friend, my love, Draco…"**


	25. Poses and Roses

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 25 – Poses and Roses**:

Draco gasped when he saw it was a letter to him. A letter she must have just written, but why? Did she write to him last night, the way he wrote to her? He started to read, getting no further than the salutation again, when she called out to him from the bathroom.

"DRACO, come here now!" she yelled.

Her sudden invective, along with the urgency in her voice, made him momentarily forget the letter. He folded it in quarters and put it under the mattress. He pushed the suitcase, the other letter, and the book back under the bed. He ran to the bathroom. He pulled open the shower curtain, expecting to see her hurt, bleeding or at least a spider over her head. Instead, she screamed again.

"Close the curtain!" She tried in vain to cover her naked form with her small washcloth.

He closed the curtain but said, "Why the hell did you scream?"

"I called your name calmly twice, before I screamed," she said, her hand holding back the curtain, and her head peaking out of the hole.

"Okay, I'm here, now what's so damn important?" he asked.

"Well, never mind now, if you are going to be like that." She shut the shower curtain again.

He shook his head in aggravation, but then, he decided he found it kind of endearing. He wanted to play along.

"No, you brought me in here, tell me what you want," he said.

"Not likely now," she said from behind the curtain.

"Granger, you are so frustrating. Just tell me," he asked.

She looked out the curtain again, hair wet and hanging around her face, body red from the hot water, and spattered with water kisses. She said, "NO."

She shut the curtain.

Well, now he was annoyed. He removed his shorts, pulled back the curtain, and pushed her body away from the spray of water. He took the sponge right from her hand, her shocked expression painfully painted on her face as he did so. He began to wash himself, and said, "You've hogged the shower long enough."

She stomped her foot, like a child, splashing water as it landed on the porcelain bottom of the tub. He kept his back to her, and smiled. He could only imagine her expression.

"May I at least rinse off?" she asked. She tried to elbow past him. He turned around to face her and instead of staring at her naked form, which he already had memorized, he stared at her face. In her eyes. He leaned down, put his hands around her, and pressed their wet, slippery bodies together. His nose edged around her cheek to her jaw line and said, "You may kiss me if you'd like."

"Then may I rinse?" she said, breathlessly.

"By all means, a kiss, rinse, and repeat, and then who knows, maybe more," he smiled. He put his mouth on hers and his tongue slid in effortlessly. This was the way he wanted her. Ready and willing and exposed, both literally and physically. She stopped the kiss suddenly, pushed away from him, and elbowed past him, so she was under the spray of water. Well, he did tell her if she kissed him, she could finish rinsing. She paid her toll; it was time to collect what was due to her.

He watched at the water flowed gracefully down her hair, past her shoulders, down the roundness of her bottom, and to the floor of the tub. She was a sight for his eyes.

She backed up, to step away from the showerhead, and ran into his hard body. She turned her head slightly and looked up. Her head rested on his chest, and she smiled. He smiled back. He wanted to cherish every moment with her, keep it locked inside, so if, heaven forbid, this ever faded, he would have his memories.

As soon as he thought that, he frowned. She sensed the change in his demeanor and reached her arms up to wrap around his neck. "What?"

"I don't want to live every moment afraid that you'll be gone the next moment," he said.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," she said. "If you ever get tired of me, you will have to be the one to leave, because I'm not going anywhere, I really do promise."

He frowned again and stepped around her to finish showering. She could think of nothing else to say, so she stepped out the other side of the tub, and wrapped herself in a towel. She bent over, and with another towel, she began to dry her hair. She heard him shut off the water, and felt his hand on her back. She stood back up and saw that he had a towel around his waist. He took the towel from her hands, and put it back in her hair. He began to towel dry her hair.

"When are you going to pose for me?" he asked. He yearned to paint her. It was similar to making love to her. He felt passionate about his painting, and about her. He yearned for both.

She had forgotten that, already. She took the towel from him and started to comb through her hair. She said, "I'll eat some breakfast, dash off to dad's and come right back. The whole day after that point is promised to you. You can plan the whole thing."

"I want to paint you in the rose garden," he said. She looked up in the mirror and caught his reflection. She smiled at him and nodded. He wrapped his arms around her towel-clad waist and nuzzled his nose in her hair. He inhaled deeply and kissed her neck.

She unwrapped his arms from around her, so she could go dress. As she started out of the bathroom, he grabbed her towel and pulled it from her body. She squealed and ran toward the guestroom. He poked his head out of the bathroom door and watched as her bare figure ran down the hall.

"I've seen you naked, you weird woman! Just five minutes ago." He went toward his room, when he suddenly remembered the letter. Would she even know it was gone?

She pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. She noticed her copy of 'Little Women' lying on the floor, beside the suitcase. She picked it up, and put it on her bed. She pulled a white cotton summer sundress from her suitcase. She slipped it on, tying the spaghetti strings over each shoulder. She slipped on some knickers, and her sandals. Her hair, still wet, she pulled back and braided. She picked up her satchel, sticking her book inside.

She yelled out, "Draco, I'm off to my dad's."

He never acknowledged her. Instead, he waited in the bathroom until she was gone. He dressed quickly and then went back to her room to get the letter. He started in her room, but suddenly, he felt guilty. If she meant for him to read that letter, she would have given it to him, just as he did with her letter. He had a moment of regret at having put his own letter to her in her book. He would return her letter to her book and take out the one he wrote. He slipped his hand under the mattress, took out her letter to him, and reached under the bed for the book. It was gone. She must have taken it. He decided he really did not want her to read the letter at all. He stuck her letter to him in his pants pocket, and he decided to go to her dad's to get the book. He also had ulterior motives. He wanted to make sure Roger wasn't cruel to her.

Hermione walked toward her dad's house. Michael was already busy in the fields. He waved at her from atop a large combine harvester. She waved back. She was almost afraid to enter the house. One, she didn't know what Monica would say, since the last thing Hermione did was curse the woman, and also, she didn't really want to see Roger, but she knew she had to. She was ready to start her new life, and she wanted the same for him.

She entered through the lowest level, and walked through the kitchen. She said hello to the staff, and walked up the stairs to the main level. It was late morning, so her dad would be at work. She crept down the hall, toward the solarium. As expected, she heard Monica's voice. She also heard Roger. She had no desire to overhear their conversation, so she called out from the hall, "Roger, its Hermione, may we talk for a moment?"

She stayed in the hall, feeling apprehensive and small. He walked out and said hello. Monica walked past her without looking at her at all. He said, "Let's go back in here."

Hermione put her bag down and sat in a large wicker chair. He sat down on a loveseat, and patted the space beside him. Just like good old Roger. He always had a subtle way of getting what he wanted. He wanted Hermione by him on the loveseat, so he smiled and patted the loveseat. Not this time, she thought. She smiled back and patted the chair next to her. He remained rooted to his spot for a minute, but then stood and sat in the chair next to hers.

"Why are you here, Roger?" Hermione asked, suddenly feeling tired of life.

"I saw Potter at work the other day, I asked him how my wife was," he started.

"Ex-wife," she interrupted.

Ignoring her slight, he continued, "And he told me that you had come here. I was surprised, because I know you don't have the best relationship with these people. He said that you were running away, and those were his words not mine. I had no intention, however, of coming here until I received that letter from Monica. She said that you had started a liaison with Malfoy, after just a couple of days here."

She suddenly felt like Roger's wife, and Monica's stepdaughter, instead of Hermione Granger, strong, proud woman. Why? She looked down at her hands in her lap. She was surprised he even knew she had a bad relationship with her family. She never knew he even listened to anything she had ever said. He continued, "I couldn't believe it. I thought she was mistaken. Draco Malfoy, Hermione, really?"

She didn't look up from her lap. He continued, "I was doubly shocked when she told me he was the man from your letters. I had to come find out for myself. I saw the letters you wrote to each other, as well as a painting he did of you, and that confirmed everything. It made me sick to my stomach. Hermione, tell me, how could you? He was responsible for losing our baby, in more ways than we originally thought."

Hermione couldn't speak. Why oh why oh why? She felt empty and suddenly hollow inside. He stood up and started pacing back and forth. Per usual, she couldn't get a word in if she tired. He continued to rant about her and Draco's relationship. Same old Roger. Was this why he wanted to speak to her? To berate and belittle her. He did not want closure, as she did. He wanted to rehash all the unpleasant things of the past, and she was allowing it to happen, and felt helpless to stop it.

Draco knocked on the front door. The housekeeper answered. He asked if Hermione was there. She told Draco she would go find her. Draco walked over to the banister, to look up the stairs, and then around the foyer. He heard the distinct sound of Roger Davies' voice, and it sounded like he was raking someone over the coals. If it was whom he thought, that man was dead.

Draco sprinted to the sound of the raised voice. He saw Monica standing outside a set of French doors, leaning toward the crack in the doors, listening intently, and even smiling to herself. He got an evil idea. With stealth that would make his father proud, he ducked back to the foyer, and with his wand pointed right at her, said a spell.

The next thing everyone heard was Monica scream! The housekeeper, as well as Roger and Hermione ran out in the hall. Monica was covered in welts and hives and was scratching all over. She yelled at the housekeeper to help her to her husband's office. Draco silently laughed and dashed in the lounge so not to be seen. He waited until the woman was taken away, and he ducked his head back around to see Roger practically push Hermione back in the solarium. 'Damn Granger, is your courage eluding you again', he thought.

He took up Monica's place outside the door and listened.

"Roger, I don't want to fight with you," Hermione said. "I only came here because I thought we should talk, say a proper goodbye to each other, and get some closure. Even though we were never in love, we cared for each other. I want you to find happiness. I'm sorry if you don't want the same for me."

Roger felt like he had been slapped. He stood up and said, "But, Malfoy? Hermione, are masochistic? I really think you need professional help!"

Draco felt like punching the man.

Hermione sat by and said nothing for the longest time. She finally said, "Roger, I am sorry if I hurt you, but you know you aren't blameless in the demise of our marriage. I thought we could pass through this world with at least respect for each other, but I was wrong. I'm sorry, but I cannot ever see you again. Goodbye." She stood to leave and he took her arm.

"You know what, Hermione, don't you even try to lay any blame on me. Your happiness wasn't my responsibility. I don't think anything would have made you happy. Moreover, the whole reason our marriage crumbled was Draco Malfoy. Hell, I knew you were selfish, but I didn't know you were stupid as well. The fact that you went off with him, was the reason we lost our baby. Monica was right; you two do deserve each other. You made your bed, you sleep in it. You picked our baby's murderer over our baby. You're a sick, twisted woman."

Draco opened the double doors, wand at the ready, just as Hermione Granger slapped Roger Davies across the face. Both men stood by in shock. Draco also felt awe.

"You can blame me all you want, I don't care, but you know what, it was an accident!" She was crying and had yet to notice that Draco had entered the room. "It was sad, and a tragedy, and heartbreaking, but it was an accident. It's no one's fault!"

Roger looked over at Draco and said, "She's all yours, Malfoy. I can't think of two people who deserve each other more." He looked back to Hermione, who was crying softly, her arms wrapped around her own body for comfort, her head bowed. "And you Hermione, you don't get off that easy for killing our baby. I hope you think about his little lifeless body every minute of every day for the rest of your life and I hope it eats away at your soul! You don't deserve happiness! You're both murderers!"

He started to rush out of the room, but Draco held his arm. Roger turned to look at Draco and said, "If you value your life, Malfoy, you WILL let go of my arm."

"What did you mean, we are both murderers?" Draco asked with as much spite as he could.

Roger actually laughed, though it was at the irony of the situation, and nothing more. He looked over at Hermione, who was now back in the chair, rocking back and forth. "He doesn't even know, does he? That's wonderful. Have fun telling him. I wish I could be here to hear his reaction. I would tell him myself, but I don't want to deprive you of your 'happiness' Hermione." He was being sarcastic. He turned back to Draco and said, "Malfoy, ask her what happened the afternoon she left to meet you. Ask her how we lost our baby. I think you'll find it all very enlightening. Yes, I don't see happy endings for you two, not at all. At least I get that, don't I?" He stormed from the room. Draco took several steps to follow, but turned back when he heard an anguish cry escape Hermione's throat.

He stepped back to her and wrapped her in his arms. All he could think was that this whole damn house and all of its occupants were diseased, and a blight on Hermione Granger's soul, and she would never set another foot in it as long as HE lived. He reached down for her bag, and then apparated her to his house.

They apparated to his back garden. She hung on to him, as a wounded child held on to its parent. "Sh, Sh," he hushed her. "You shouldn't have gone there." He knew it was not the right time to berate her, but it had to be said. "It's over now; you don't ever have to see that man, or even go in that house, ever again." She looked up at him through her tears. "And you know what else; I don't want you ever to tell me what happened that day. I don't. It's not worth it, and what's more, it's over and done and we can't change anything." He meant it. He didn't want to know any longer, because he wanted her pain to end. Apparently, whatever happened that day was so horrible, that she felt tremendous remorse. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty. He wished he could take all the blame from her.

"Hey," he said lightly, putting his hand under her chin, "let me go get my supplies, and I can paint you. I have to finish your portrait, and you did promise me."

"Ignoring our problems won't make them go away," she said. "You can't just pretend things don't exist."

"Yes, I can. I know that for a fact that ignoring things can make them go away," he joked. "I once had a pimple, right here," he pointed to his forehead, "and I ignored it for about a week, and then one day, I woke up, and it was gone!" he joked.

She put her hand on his cheek and said, "Ah, poor Draco, born without any intelligence. At least you are very pretty."

"That's the spirit!" he said. "Make fun of me, belittle me, call me names, and you will feel better in no time. I know it always worked that way for me."

"You must have been the happiest person in Hogwarts, because you certainly belittled, named called, and worse, almost everyone back then, especially me," she said with a sad smile.

"Oh, you know just the right things to make me feel all warm inside," he joked. He hugged her and stroked her long plait. He said, "Really, I love you. I even caused Monica to break out in all those boils and hives. She was eavesdropping on you and Roger. She seemed so pleased, too, I mean, before the boils and hives."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, before she wondered how much Draco overheard prior to him showing himself. She figured it couldn't have been a lot, since he didn't seem upset. He took her satchel from her hand, and let go of her body. He said, "I'll take this upstairs, and get my paints and canvas. You go in the rose garden, with that blanket from the screened porch, and try to look pretty and alluring. Take that braid out of your hair."

She let a small chuckle escape her lips again, and went to retrieve the blanket. He ran her satchel upstairs, and placed it on her floor. He totally forgot that he was going to replace the letter she had written him with the one he had written her. He was too caught up in wanting to make her happy and wanting to be happy himself. He went up to get his paints, with the letter still in the pocket of his jeans.

When he came down to the rose garden, with his supplies in his hands, he found her sitting cross-legged on the blanket, hair cascading around her, humbly waiting for his return. He set up his canvas and unfolded a folding chair he had with him. He placed his paints, brushes and palette beside the chair. He came and sat beside her on the blanket.

"So, do you want to see what I've done so far?" he asked.

"No, it can be a surprise," she said with a smile. "It really isn't a nude though, is it?" she asked.

"That depends," he said wily, "are these straps tied with knots?" He reached up to one of the straps of her dress and pulled the string, essentially untying the strap, and exposing the swell of her breast, as the straps fell off her shoulder.

She reached up, held the strap, and said, "Hey, watch your hands, Malfoy."

"What would happen if I did that to this strap, too?" he asked, as his hand went slowly up her other arm. He put the end of one strap deftly between his long fingers. He started to pull.

"Malfoy…" she warned.

"Granger…" he mocked. He pulled until the two strings were barely held together.

"I'm not posing nude. It's embarrassing and someone could see," she said.

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. He pulled the strap the rest of the way. "Live, Hermione. It's time you learn to live." He kissed her collarbone. Her neck. Her jaw. Her cheek. Her lips. He leaned away. "What do you want, Granger?"

She held up her dress with her hands and she said, "What I want isn't necessarily what I can have. I want a great many things. I want to be happy. I want to be loved. I want to be married and grow old with someone. I want a house full of children. I want…" she stopped.

"What?"

"The way I feel right now is the most real feeling I've ever had in my life, but it comes with such a terrible price," she said sadly.

"Stop beating yourself up over things you can't change," he demanded. "It's too hard. Life is hard enough without living with regrets. You said you've already forgiven me for all my transgressions, and you made me promise I would forgive myself as well." He suddenly got to his knees, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her up to her knees as well. "Well, it's time you make me a promise. Forgive yourself, Hermione! Forgive yourself. Live again, be happy, and find forgiveness. Redemption and forgiveness go hand in hand, and you can't have one without the other." He had not even notice he was shaking her, and shaking her hard. She was still holding up her dress, but she could not cry, because he was right.

"I want to stop feeling lost!" she said. She took several deep breaths, as he kept her at arms length. He crushed her to his chest, and wrapped his arms around her.

"You aren't lost! You are right where you belong, you stupid girl." He pulled her hair and said, "Now, enough sentimental rubbish, let's paint while the sun is still high in the sky. Take off your clothes, and I'll go find that rubber snake."

She bit her bottom lip and pushed him, so that he toppled over. He still had her arms, so she toppled on top of him. "Let me up, Granger, I need to paint. My artistic side is screaming to get out!" He laughed.

She straddled his hips, and tied one side of her dress. As she reached to tie the other side, he reached up and untied the one she just fastened. She rolled her eyes and said, "Pervert." She reached up to tie the one he just untied, and as he reached up again, she slapped his hand away. "Stop!" she chastised. He lay passively, with her still on top of him and his arms behind his head.

"Fine, no posing nude, but can we still use the rubber snake?" he asked.

She hit his chest and said, "Yes, I think I feel your rubber snake right now in your pocket, you lascivious cad!" She rolled off him and as a joke, she reached in his pocket and said, "Is this it?"

Of course, there was no rubber snake, only a small folded piece of parchment. He sat up quickly, finally remembering her letter. "What's this?" she asked. She started to unfold it, as it was folded in quarters.

"Give it here, Granger, it's just my shopping list," he said. He held out his hand, trying to act bored. She stood up, as he remained on the ground. She unfolded it slightly.

"Fine, take it," she said, as it dropped out of her hand and floated like a leaf falling from a tree. It landed smoothly in his hand.

He stood up and put it back in his pocket. He turned from her, feeling terribly guilty, and said, "Are we going to paint or not?"

He turned back to her and she said, "Please tell me you didn't read it."


	26. Ignorance is Sweet,Revenge Sweeter

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 26 – Ignorance is Sweet, but Revenge is Sweeter: ****  
**  
He heard her plea, her question, and her query. However, he was going to act as if he did not hear her. He would ignore her question. If he ignored it, maybe it would go away, just like his pimple.

"Pardon?" he asked, stumbling to stand. He felt too vulnerable on the ground. She might kick him or something. At least he knew her wand was in her satchel safely upstairs. He stuffed the note back in his pocket, and looked at her with longing. In his mind he thought, 'Please don't ask again.'

She took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. She was trying to calm her budding anger. She asked again, slowly and deliberately, "Draco, did you read it?"

"What, my shopping list? Yes, I glanced at it when I wrote it up this morning," he stated. Draco was a very good liar, usually. He had never tested his ability with her, so he was not sure she would buy it. This was one instant when he wished for a dumb girlfriend.

"Draco, I know what that was. Please, don't toy with me. Did you read it?" she asked, wearily.

He pulled on her hand and said, "Come, Granger, we need to get started on that portrait, and then have a late lunch."

She pulled her hand from his and said, "Do not ever insult my intelligence again. You can insult my looks, my hair, my teeth, my choice of boyfriends, but not my intelligence." Suddenly, she thought of something, "Oh, goodness! You didn't read the other one, too, did you?" She turned from him, put her hands over her eyes and said, "Please, tell me you didn't read that one!"

He put his hand on her arm and turned her around. "No, I didn't read either. Listen, I wrote you a letter last night, and I was going to put it in your book, so you would find it later, and the two letters you wrote fell out." She still had her hands over her mouth, as if she was in shock.

He let go of her arm and said, "I swear, though, I saw that the one was written to your baby, and I folded it back up. I started to read this one, because after all, it was addressed to me, but then you called me to the bathroom, so I didn't read it. I didn't. I changed my mind, anyway. I was going to put it back in the book when I could. I left your room before I read it."

"How did it get in your pants pocket?" she asked.

Boy, she was good. "I stuck it under your mattress, went to the join you in the shower, and then when I went to put it back in the book; you and the book were gone. I took it with me when I went to your dad's, and the whole thing with Roger and Monica erupted before I could sneak it back in the book, and take out the one that I wrote to you. I swear, sweetheart, that's the truth."

She pointed at him and said, "Don't call me sweetheart. Roger called me that. Also, I don't think I believe you."

"Pardon?" This time he heard her, he just could not believe she would say that. His indignation was plastered on his face. He told her the truth, instead of lying, and she said she didn't believe him. He didn't believe that!

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I do," she said again.

"I don't care what you believe. I forgot it was even in my pocket until you reached for it. Anyway, it's addressed to me, so why can't I read it?" he asked.

"Because I wrote it for myself! Why did you write the letter to me? I'm right here, you could just talk to me, but you must have had a good reason to write to me instead, and you must have a good reason why you wanted to take your letter back, and as to why you changed your mind about me reading it," she pointed out.

"I wrote that letter because sometimes I miss writing to you under the cover of anonymity. I miss the closeness we had, and I miss being able to tell you things, like my fears and my troubles," he admitted.

She looked sad suddenly. She knew he was right, because she felt the same way. It did not make it hurt any less though, to have him say it. "I want you to be able to tell me those kinds of things," she said sadly.

He took both her hands and pulled her closer. He leaned his head down to look in her downcast eyes and said, "But how can I tell you the things that are in my heart, when the pain I feel is your pain? I can't share those things, because you already know them. I'm sorry. It's not as if that's the first letter I've written to you that you haven't read. I wrote to you after that day, but I never sent that one. Now, let me ask you the same thing. Why did you write to me, when I'm right here, flesh and blood before you?"

She hugged him, with her arms around him, and her head on his chest she said, "My letter tells you what happened that day. I thought if I wrote it down, it would be easier. Easier for whom, I'm not sure. It's not fair to tell you that way, so that's why I didn't give it to you. I wrote it because it was cathartic, and I thought it would heal me."

He stroked her hair, and then reached in his pocket. He put the letter in her hand, and closed his hand around hers. She looked up and then looked at the letter in her hand. She put it back in his and said, "No, it's addressed to you. You should have it. Read it if you want, or don't read it if you don't want. If you decide to read it before I find the courage to tell you in person, just do me a favour, and let me know first."

He put the letter back in his pocket. He would promise her that, but that didn't mean he would keep that promise. Not if he felt it was easier for her to have him read the letter first. He would do what was best for her. He nodded, and kissed her forehead.

"PLEASE… may we paint? I feel all my artistic ability bleeding out of every pore as we speak," he whined. He wanted to lighten the mood. His whining usually worked at putting all the attention on him; at least it did when he was growing up.

She went back over to the blanket, and sat down. She said, "How shall I sit?"

They painted and posed for two hours. They laughed and made little jokes. He asked if she was opposed to him painting her with blonde hair. She said not if he was opposed to her permanently changing his hair in real life, to red.

He talked about when he first started painting. He was thirteen, and his mother bought him paints, pastels, oils, and watercolours, for his birthday. He said the first thing he painted was a bowl of fruit. She laughed and said, "How ordinary." He was slightly put out, but agreed with her.

That was how the afternoon went. They took a break to eat some lunch, and then she told him she was tired of painting. He told her all she had to do was sit and look pretty, so how hard could that be? She was slightly offended, when he added, "Of course, looking pretty was never your forte." He was joking, she sneered, and he smirked.

She stretched her arms over her head, and fell back on the blanket, as he gathered his supplies, having decided to stop for the day. He ran his things upstairs, and then came and joined her on the blanket. He lay on his stomach, while she was still on her back. His put his head on his arms, using his arms as a pillow. She leaned to her side, and stroked his hair.

"Tell me your best quality, and your worst," she asked.

"Best, well, there's so many to pick from, but I suppose it would be my beauty."

She cackled and said, "Yeah, that would have been my answer for you as well."

"My worst," he said, thinking for a moment, "is my inability to ever look bad, no matter what."

"How is that a worst?" she asked, running her hand down his back.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"That's getting tiring," she said, referring to his constant use of the word, 'pardon' when he didn't want to answer a question. She sat up and started massaging his shoulders.

"Granger, if you keep that up, I might have to keep you," he said.

She leaned down and kissed his ear. "Like you could get rid of me that easily," she said.

She pushed the hair out of his eyes, and put her hand across his cheek. She leaned over again and kissed his cheek. He turned toward her, and kissed her mouth. He turned to his back and held her as tight as he could. They kissed as if it was their first kiss, and for Draco, the energy and the ardor he felt made it seem like it was the first time. This was how he imagined kissing her the day they would have met. He moved his head from hers and said, "Are you opposed to making love outside. I mean, you didn't want to pose nude outside, so I need to know the subtle differences."

She pushed him, and he fell on his back. He grabbed her hand, pulled her on top of him, and said, "Can't you answer a simple question? Outdoor love making, yea or nay?"

"I'm not having sex outside," she laughed, while pressing her body on top of his body. "Anyway, someone might see."

"That's the fun of it," he reasoned, kissing her neck.

His mouth on her neck and chest felt exhilarating. He turned so she was on the bottom, and before she could overrule his intentions, he placed his body directly on top of hers. His hands traveled the length of her body. He put both hands up in her hair and kissed her long and softly. He then pushed away and said, "I'm going to make love to you here on this blanket. If someone sees, then that's their problem, not ours."

He dipped his head and kissed her again. She trembled underneath him. He moved on the blanket so that he was sitting, and he took her hand, and pulled her over to him. He nuzzled her neck, and she shivered again. "It's not cold, it's warm. Why are you shivering?" He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

"I'm, well, I'm not sure," she stammered.

He placed her on her back and he lightly touched the skin on her neck and chest, as if he was fascinated by its softness and texture. He untied the straps that were over her shoulders, and then pushed the top of her dressed down to her waist, so that her breasts were exposed. He removed his shirt. She smiled at him, but put her hands over her chest. He skimmed his hands over her bare flesh. He moved to his back, and she was on top again. He ran one long finger down her spine.

He looked up at her suddenly and their gazes met and held for a moment. He moved her back to her back. She said, "Are you having trouble getting comfortable?" She smiled.

He said, "I just love you so much." He slipped her dress off her hips, and placed it at the end of the blanket. Her hands came up and rubbed his bare chest. Her touch set his body on fire. He ran a long finger down her hipbone, across her stomach. He ran his finger over the elastic of her knickers. "You're so beautiful," he said, as his mouth descended her neck, and then moved to taste her mouth again.

She was weak from his contact. He turned to his side, so that they were now facing each other. "Do you want to marry me?" he suddenly inquired.

She frowned. She sat up, picked up her dress, and put it over her chest. She said, "Not to repeat your phrase from earlier, but, pardon?"

He sat up. He didn't know he was going to ask that. He might as well continue. "Are you going to marry me, I mean, not anytime soon, or anything, just someday, do you see us as being married, someday?" He seemed embarrassed. Hermione regarded him very seriously, and he was blushing.

She managed to get her dress back on, and he took that as a no. He reached over and put his shirt on. He started to stand, but she reached for the back of his shirt. She pulled him back down. They sat by each other on the blanket where they almost just made love and she said, "Was that some type of proposal?"

"If it were, what would you make of it? What might your answer be? I'm not asking for commitment, I just want to know if it's something you have considered," he clarified. Now he was no longer blushing, and was staring right at her.

She said, "Well, when I had decided to run off with you, leaving my husband, I mean, of course, I wouldn't have done that if I wasn't planning on marrying you someday."

He shook his head and got up on his knees. "No, I mean me, right now, not the man from your letters. Since you discovered who I am, have you thought about marrying me?"

She got on her knees, facing him. She smiled so brightly that his heart wanted to melt. "Of course," she answered.

"Really?" he asked.

She pushed him and he sat back down. "You are so dense, Draco Malfoy." Hermione stood up and said, "Let's go in and finish what we started."

"If you're toying with my emotions, either with the affirmative answer to my proposal, or the declaration of upcoming sex, then I shall have to curse you. If you think Monica's boils and hives were something, wait until you see what I do to you," he declared, standing up.

"I can't believe you did that to her," she laughed. "It was so great!" She could not contain herself. "If Roger hadn't been there, I might have had time to revel in the glory of seeing her a pile of red hives and puss. It was ingenious, simple, but effective."

"I'm so glad you approve. Usually the women I date don't like my evil side," he said, taking her hand and leading her in the house.

"I admire your evilness," she joked.

"As you should," he said, quite seriously.

They had just walked in the house, when there was the sound of someone banging on the front door.

Draco said, "What here. I'll make whomever it is leave, even if I have to cover them with hives and boils, which is now my specialty, and then we'll go upstairs." She didn't listen, and she followed him to the foyer anyway.

The banging continued. Draco yelled, "Yes, yes, I'm coming, keep your knickers on, for Merlin's sake!" He opened the door and outside stood little Erin Mohr, Martin's future stepdaughter. She had a large red handprint on her face. She was crying.

Hermione rushed passed Draco, bent at the waist, grabbed the little girl's shoulders and asked, "Erin, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Hermione, I need you to take me to my mummy!" Erin cried. She hugged Hermione's waist.

She pulled the little girl into the foyer and before she could ask what happened, Draco did the honours. "What's wrong, Erin?" Draco asked.

"Dr. Granger came and told Martin they had an emergency at the hospital. Mummy had to go with them. She left me at Dr. Granger's house, and asked Michael to watch me. When Mummy and Martin left, Mike told me to stay on the porch, so he could go clean up, and then he would take me for ice cream. I waited on the porch, and was playing with my paper dolls. Miss Monica came out, heard me playing, and she pulled my arm, and slapped my face, and said if I ever played that game again, she would make me sorry."

Hermione was shaking. The poor little thing was defenseless against that mean 'witch', just as Hermione was as a child. Why was this happening again? Why wasn't anyone there to protect this child?

Draco asked, "What game were you playing with your paper dolls?"

"Hogwarts School or Witchcraft and Wizardry," Erin answered. "She slapped me so hard, then took my paper dolls, and told me she was going to burn them. That's when I ran here. I hate her."

"I do too," Hermione said quietly.

Draco's eyes narrowed and said, "That woman has a bad habit of burning things. I bet she started that fire the first day at the dairy, to make sure no one picked you up at the station."

"Draco, she wasn't even home, she was at her sister's," Hermione said, holding Erin's hand, although she thought Draco might be onto something.

"Whatever, I'm teaching her a lesson that won't involve hives this time," Draco gleamed, and he ran out the door.

"Stay right there, Erin," Hermione said. She ran after him. She took his arm. "Draco, don't do anything rash, please."

"It's my fault," Draco said, pointing toward the house. "If I hadn't told that little girl about Hogwarts, none of this would have happened."

"Draco, this is something important, so listen to me, not everything is somebody's fault. There are bad things in this world, and bad things happen to good people, but not everything is so clear-cut that it required placing blame! Things happen for no apparent reason. If you cannot handle this, then you'll never be able to handle what's in that letter. Please, just stay here. We'll talk to Martin and Maureen later, and tell them the importance of protecting her from Monica, even if they have to move away." Hermione tried to pull him back in the house.

"Do you want that little girl as broken as you were?" he asked.

"No, but do you really want to feel guilty over something that isn't even your fault? Martin told her about magic being real, not you, so please, stay with us here," she pleaded.

He thought for a moment. He needed to have faith in what Hermione said, but how could she expect him to believe what she said, when she didn't believe it? He pulled her aside, and in hushed tones said, "Tell you what, Granger, when you live what you preach, so will I. You forgive yourself, and I will forgive myself. You keep saying bad things just happen, and bad things aren't our fault, and maybe your brain does believe that's true, but when your heart catches up with your brain, you let me know, until then, I'll do what I think is best, and I think it's best to strangle Monica."

"Fine," Hermione nodded her head. "Let's get Erin settled, and then I'll go talk to Monica. Talk. Not hex, not curse. You have a point, a weak point, but a point."

He glowered at her, pointed his finger, and said, "You just don't want to concede. You don't want to admit I have a strong point, and that I might be right about you."

She seethed and said, "You are right, happy?"

"Ecstatic, actually, and I will feel even better when I hex Monica into oblivion," Draco said.

"No hexing," Hermione said. Erin was standing at the door.

"What is hexing?" Erin asked.

"Erin, Draco will take you to get your ice cream," Hermione said, disregarding her question. She turned to Draco and said, "Get in your car and take her to the village. I will go talk to Monica alone, please."

Draco said, "If I come back here and that woman isn't at least turned into a rat or something, I will be ashamed of you."

"Go away, you're starting to annoy me," Hermione snapped.

"Draco, can we go please," Erin asked.

"Yes, let's go. Hermione is starting to annoy ME," Draco said. He took the little girl's hand and started toward the garage. Hermione started across the field, toward the farm. Draco turned around and watched her go. He yelled out, "Go back in the house and get your wand."

She gave him a rude hand gesture. He covered Erin's eyes. "Manners, Granger," he yelled out as she continued across the field.

She yelled out, "Pompous Git!"

He yelled out, "Stupid Know-it-all," toward Hermione's retreating figure as she ran toward the farm.

Draco opened the car door for Erin and she asked, "Are you mad at Hermione?"

"The word is angry, and no, I love her. See, people can love each other and still call each other names," he explained as he got in the driver's side.

"Miss Monica told Dr. Granger that Hermione was an evil bitch, and that you were a self-righteous baby killer, but I don't think she loves you," Erin said.

Draco felt like exploding. As he started down his drive, he saw Michael running down the lane. He stopped the car and said, "Stay here, Erin."

Michael ran toward the car and said, "Please tell me that Erin's with you! I can't find her anywhere!"

"Why did you leave her alone with your mother?" Draco fumed. "She hit her."

"Erin hit my mother?" Michael asked.

"No, you stupid fool; your mother hit the little girl. Listen, take my car, take her to the village, and get some ice cream. Then, bring her back here," Draco said.

"Where are you going?" Michael asked.

"I'm going to settle a long outstanding score," Draco said. He disapparated directly to the farm, knowing he would get there before Hermione did.


	27. The Mind of a Mad Woman

**All characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 27 – The Mind of a Mad Woman:**

Draco arrived at the farm before Hermione. He didn't knock on the door; he would not have waited to be invited inside anyway. Instead, he barged right in. He walked through the foyer, and entered the lounge. It was a lucky break for him, because Monica was in that very room.

She stood up, and with her hand pointed toward the hall, she yelled, "Get out of my house, you freak!"

Draco drew his wand. "What did you do to that little girl?"

Monica didn't seem scared at all. If anything, the wand pointed at her face caused her to be even more incensed than before. "If you don't leave my house, you will be sorry!"

Draco smirked, his best smirk, mouth pulled up at one side, eyes twinkling, and he began to twirl his wand, one of his favourite things to do when he wanted to intimidate people. He said, "Why don't you make me? Slap ME on the face. What is the matter; can you only terrorize little girls? Am I too much for you?" He approached her slowly, taunting her the entire way, and finally he saw the look on her face that he was waiting for…fear.

Hermione Granger made her entrance at that exact moment. She ran in and pulled on Draco's wand. That was all it took to change Monica countenance from fear back to smug.

"You will both be sorry if you don't leave my house. Leave and never come back," Monica bellowed.

Hermione put her body between Monica and Draco. With a cool, confident, demeanor Hermione said, "Monica, you will never touch that little girl again as long as you live. It has to stop. Your hate serves no purpose. It's eating away at your heart. Think of what you're doing."

Monica sneered and then laughed. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"How can I reach you? How can I show you?" Hermione said more to herself than to Monica. She turned to look at Draco and she said, "Draco, did your father ever teach you Legilimency?"

"Yes, but how will that do anything?" he asked.

Hermione turned back to Monica, grabbed her wrist suddenly, and as the woman tried to get out of Hermione's death grip, Hermione turned to Draco and said, "Take my hand, and then point your wand at Monica. Use Legilimency on me to abstract my memories, and then with your wand pointed at Monica and say, 'Pensive Descendo Empathic'."

Draco had no ideal what that would do, for he had never heard that spell, but he trusted Granger. As Monica continued to struggle, and Hermione held on with all her might, Draco took Hermione's free hand, started to extract her memories using Legilimency, and then pointed his wand at Monica and said, "Pensive Descendo Empathic".

Monica stopped fighting. She was rooted to her spot, her expression one of horror and hurt. She was reliving Hermione's childhood, but instead of being the inflictor of the pain, she felt the pain. She felt everything Hermione felt growing up.

_Hermione was a little girl of three years old and she had just met her father for the first time. She was shy and awkward around him. He smiled at her, and told her he loved her. He told her that someday soon she could come to his house, meet her brothers, and her stepmother. He told her everyone there would love her._

_Hermione was a little girl of four years old. This was her first time away from her mummy and her grandparents. Her father took her upstairs to a scary attic bedroom. He looked sorry for her, that she had to stay there. That night she cried for her mummy. She was scared and alone. The next day her stepmother frowned at her. Hermione overheard Monica tell her sons that they weren't to talk to the little girl, and that she would never come back. They ignore their mother and talked to her anyway._

_Hermione was a little older, and she was playing with a doll under a large tree. Monica came up and threw the remains of a book at her. Hermione started to cry when she saw her book was torn. Her mummy gave her that book. Monica bent down, pulled Hermione's hair, and said, "If you leave your things around my house again, I will do more than just destroy them, understand?" She pulled her hair again, kicked Hermione's doll, breaking the arm off, and left. Hermione was confused and sad._

_Hermione was absentmindedly kicking the table leg at dinner. She was bored, the food was strange, and she wanted to go home. Monica kicked her hard under the table. When she started to cry, her father asked her what was wrong. Monica glared at her, so she told her father it was nothing_.

_Hermione met some of the people from the village. Monica slapped Hermione in the face when they got home, because she accidentally called Monica her stepmother to one of the Granger's neighbours. She looked to her father, for comfort, with her hand over her face, and tears in her eyes. Her father just told Monica that wasn't nice. There was no one to save Hermione from her sorrow and pain._

_Hermione's mother just died and the little seven-year-old girl cried and cried and cried. She returned to her father's house for her summer visit. She hoped and prayed that this would be the summer that Monica finally loved her, and acted like a mother to her. She needed a mother. Instead, when Monica found out that Hermione tracked mud in the house, Monica beat Hermione with Hermione's muddy shoe. She wrenched her arm as she took her upstairs to the bath. She forced Hermione to take a scalding hot bath, which burned her skin. Hermione cried all night long, from the pain of the burn, the loss of her mother, and humiliation._

_Hermione's brother took her for ice cream. She got some chocolate ice cream on the seat of the car. Her brother didn't notice. Hermione tried to clean it up. Monica came out of the house and yelled because Martin took the car without permission. She pulled Hermione out of the car. When she saw the ice cream stain on Hermione's shirt and the seat of the car, she beat Hermione with a switch from a tree. The long reed stung Hermione's legs, and left marks. She ran to her room crying. She heard Martin screaming as he too was beaten by his mother. Hermione hid under her bed, and prayed never to come back to this horrible place. Still, she told no one. Not her father, or her grandparents. She wondered why she was such a bad little girl._

_Hermione was in school and Draco Malfoy just called her a Mudblood for the first time. She cried and realized that she did not even belong in the magical world. She did not belong anywhere._

_Hermione and Harry were in the hallway at school. A curse intended for Harry hit Hermione instead. Draco Malfoy hurled the curse. Her teeth grew and she was in pain and was embarrassed. Everyone, including their teacher, Snape, laughed at her. She was humiliated. She ran to the Hospital wing, in shame._

_Hermione and her friends were fighting for their lives at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione was struck by a spell. She had searing pain throughout her body. The spell made her relive all the horrors of her young life, in which there were many._

_Hermione was afraid and alone. Ron had just left her and Harry. She was distraught. She yelled and cried for him to return, but he did not. She cried all night long, in that cold, dark, tent. She was more alone than she had ever been, even with Harry there._

_Hermione was at Malfoy Manor. She was being tortured with the Cruciatus curse by Draco's aunt Bellatrix. The pain traveled along every nerve ending of her body. It felt like her body was being sliced with shards of glass. It was almost more than she could endure. It went on and on forever. The older witch took a sharp dagger and put it to Hermione's throat, drawing blood. Mudblood. She thought she was going to die._

_Hermione came home from the war and her grandmother was dead. She did not even know she had died. She was away, trying to find Horcruxes with Harry and Ron. Her grandmother had a heart attack, and died. Hermione never got to say goodbye._

_Hermione was in her wedding dress. She was to be married today. Her father had promised he would come and give her away. Two days before the ceremony, she received a letter. They were in Egypt. They wouldn't be back in time. He sent her his regrets. Hermione started to cry. Roger came in and told her not to cry on her wedding day. Her grandfather walked her down the aisle. At least she had him._

_Hermione was in a car, trying to meet the man from her letters. A black car hit her little blue car. She spun out of control, and landed in a ditch. She was afraid that her baby died. She was right._

Hermione was at St. Mungo's, holding the lifeless, tiny body, of her beautiful little boy. He didn't have a chance to live. Her heart broke in a million pieces, and her blood ran cold. Her poor little baby boy, dead. Grief overcame her heart. Once again, she was alone, because she belonged nowhere and to no one.

Draco was the one to let go. He could not hold the contact any longer. He had no time to process what he saw, before Monica collapsed, crying on the ground. All the pain, humiliation, and despair that Hermione felt throughout her life, was swirling around Monica's mind and soul. She felt it all at once. She caused most of it. She had no words, as tears racked her body.

Dr. Granger and Martin came rushing in the room when they heard Monica screams for help. They saw her crawling around on the floor, grasping at the rug, moaning, and rocking back and forth. Draco grabbed Hermione's arm, and backed away from the mad woman.

The pain was too much for the woman. Her mind was not strong enough to withstand the ache and sorrow. Hermione always thought Monica was stronger than she was, because she inflicted the pain on Hermione, but now Hermione knew she herself was the strong one, for she survived the pain. Monica, however, would not be so lucky. She would not be able to survive the pain she meted out on a child. She would not be strong enough.

"What happened here?" Dr. Granger screamed as his wife continued to crawl along on the floor, crying out in pain.

Martin looked at his sister. "What did you do?"

"I made her relive every single ounce of tortured she made me live through," she said without regret.

"Where's Erin?" Martin asked, looking around.

"Michael took her to get ice cream. Monica hit her, and she came to Draco's house looking for help," Hermione explained.

"What?" he asked shocked.

Hermione sank to the floor. "I can't say anymore, I can't," she sighed. It was exhausting for her to relive all the pain as well.

Dr. Granger asked his son to get his medical bag. He needed to sedate his wife. Martin ran to the hall for the bag. Draco picked Hermione up from the floor, and literally carried her out of the house.

He kept her in his arms as he disapparated away. He carried her up to his room, and placed her on his bed. She was not crying, nor was she making any sound at all. She was numb to the pain. The tears were dry. Draco held her on his chest, and stroked her hair.

He began to process everything that he saw, through Hermione's eyes, and transferred through him to Monica. When it was happening, it was a merely a flash of horror, and he couldn't understand most of what had occurred. Now, in the quiet of his bedroom, in the middle of the afternoon, on a hot summer day, Draco began to unravel everything that he had seen. He was shocked and appalled. He closed his eyes, as he tried to remember everything in detail. He heard Hermione's steady breathing. Her hand moved back and forth on his chest, and his left hand stroked her back, as his right hand came up to her face. He knew she too was remembering everything.

When he thought of her memories of school, and how most of the bad memories were at his own hands, he shuddered. He could not help it. He had no need to remember them, for he could never forget. He stopped his mind from wandering, and tried to focus on the memories he knew were the most painful. The ones involving her child. That was when it hit him. That was when he remembered the memory of her losing her baby.

He sat up suddenly, which startled Hermione. He looked over at her, and said, "I need to go the bathroom." She nodded.

He ran to the bathroom. He placed a locking charm on the door and a silencing charm as well. He paced back and forth, as he recalled her memories of that day. Her and Roger fighting, her taking Roger's car instead of her own, trying to outrun a train, coming upon an intersection, not slowing down, turning left at a great speed, a black car clipping her own, sending it sliding into a ditch. Her baby, stillborn. Dead. Because of him. He was now the one in shock.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He said, "Murderer." His fist smashed the glass of the mirror, shattering it, and cutting his fist to ribbons. He removed her letter from his pocket, and started to read.


	28. The Reveal

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 28 - The Reveal:**

When Draco excused himself to go to the bathroom, Hermione merely nodded. She didn't know what to say. She knew that he had seen her painful memories. She had pushed all her painful memories to the front, so that Monica could feel her sorrow. She knew that by using Draco as a conduit it would result in him feeling them as well. She hadn't given it a thought at the time; she just knew she had to punish Monica. She didn't realize she would be punishing Draco as well.

She only pushed two memories to the front that concerned her baby. The fact that he died when Hermione's car was hit by Draco's, and the grief she felt the day she held him in her arms. That was enough to cause Draco irrevocable pain as well. She could do nothing about it now. It was done. She knew he was now going to read the letter.

Draco opened the piece of parchment, and read:

* * *

**My Dearest Friend, my love, Draco,**

**I know I did not tell you this, but I became pregnant during the time that we corresponded, and on the day I was to come and meet you, I had a car accident, and my baby died. I couldn't drive the car you were expecting me to drive, because my husband's car was blocking it. I was rushing to get to you, and because I had a fight with my husband, I ended up taking his car. It was a small blue car. I raced to get to you on time, because I was afraid that you would not wait for me. I almost outran a train, but I decided to stop. I didn't want to hurt my baby. After the train passed, I drove fast, approached a four-way stop, three blocks from the park, and I hardly slowed down to make my left hand turn.****  
**  
X

(Draco stopped reading for a moment. He had hoped what he had seen in Hermione's memory was wrong, even though he knew he was grasping for straws. However, here it was in black and white. She was in that small blue car.)

X

the letter continued:

**The thing was, you were not in your silver SUV either. For some reason, you decided to drive a black sports car. You must have been late too, because when you approached the same four-way intersection as I, you did not stop either, and went right on through. You see, I was in the little blue car you hit.**

X

(Draco stopped again. He could not believe the words he had read. He hit the car. He remembered that day clearly. He even remembered thinking he didn't care if that person in the car lived or died, as long as he got to Hermione in time. Heaven, help him.)

X

the letter continued:

**I do not blame you, and I do not want you to blame yourself either. I will take the whole blame. Things happen, maybe for a reason, maybe for no reason at all, but we cannot change the choices we make, good or bad. We can just go on from there.****Let's go on, and share the love that we now have. It is our only choice.**

**I love you.**

**Hermione**

* * *

How could she love him? How could she forgive him? He would never forgive himself. Never. He had promised her he would, no matter what, but now he knew he could not. He thought it was something like this, but not THIS. He had already deduced that her baby died that day, but not that he was the cause. He already had pangs of guilt, thinking that she would not have lost her baby, in whatever horrible way she did, if she wasn't coming to meet him, so he already felt it was his fault, but only indirectly. He had no fathomable ideal that it was directly his fault.

His heart hurt. It actually hurt. Not in the poetic way. Not in a 'dream like' way. His chest hurt, and his heart was breaking, and it was valid and palpable, and nothing could make it better, nothing.

He did not know what to do. He looked around the small bathroom, and he was lost, forlorn, in shock. He could not cry, he could not scream, he could not curse. He looked at his lacerated hand, and the blood soaked floor, and he sat down on the tiles and there he sat for over an hour. He just sat there. If he were lucky, maybe he would bleed to death, and the pain would stop.

He knew it was over. He could never face her again.

Hermione knew he must have put up a silencing charm and a locking charm. She couldn't hear a thing from inside the small room. She tried to open the door, and it was sealed tight. She knew it would do no good to knock on the door, therefore, just as he had with her that first night at his house, she sat outside the bathroom door, and waited. He would have to come out eventually.

She felt guilty. He should not have had to find out this way, but no matter how he found out, it would have caused him pain. At least it was over. They could move on. She was not a fool. She knew he would not see it that way. He would think it was over, instead of just beginning.

He could feel her presence outside the door, as a battle raged deep inside him. He loved her still, in spite of his sins. He wondered how long it would take her love to turn to hate. He hated himself, so would her hate be far behind. He could imagine the tears that had formed in her eyes, with the knowledge that he now possessed. Did she feel bad causing him pain? He wanted to taste the blood of her hate. He wanted her to despise him. He did not want her ever to forget his crime. In his never-ending world of darkness, she had become his beacon of light and truth, but it was a folly, a fantasy, that just left him feeling used and tired.

He no longer wanted to be within her grasp or her sight. She deserved freedom from that night, and as long as he was near her, he would be a constant reminder of the worse moment of her life. He could not do that to her. He knew that she would someday forget him, but she would never forget her son.

His life had been full of violence and brutality, and he felt he was forever destined to walk alone until he fell in love with her. Strangers constantly surrounded him, and he had nowhere to call a home. He opened his heart to her, told her his secrets, and he thought he had nothing to lose. How would he ever have guessed that he would lose his humanity, when he killed hers?

The sweetest song of his life was living with the hope and promise of a future with her, one where he would never have to compromise, but that life was fading fast. It was a broken prophecy, and he no longer had anyone to guide him. He had nothing left to believe. He had nowhere in which he belonged.

"Draco?" she finally said.

He still had the silencing charm on the door, but it was not two way. While she could not hear him, he could hear her. She said, again, "Draco?"

He came and stood by the door, and listened.

"Draco, if you can hear me, I want you to know that I knew in an instant that if I gave myself to loving you, I'd be a prisoner, never to leave you. Sometimes I think it is wrong to be so selfish, and to think only of my own happiness, but I want the freedom to choose my happiness, not have it thrust upon me. I choose you."

"If your love for me isn't forever, then forget about me. You hold my love, so if you want, set it free. Unlock the door to your heart, and return your love to me. I'll leave you with the happy memories, and you leave me the key."

"I was lonely for so long. Now, I finally remember what happiness feels like, and I don't want to be alone any longer. I know, like I said, selfish, isn't it? When I start to dream about a future with you by my side, then I know I will be in love forever, but if you want me to forget about you, well I can't. I will never forget about you. Never. I will think of you every single day, and dream about you every single night. I have no choice now. That's just the way it is."

She stood up next to the door and said, "Draco, here's how I see it. There are several constants in life. A baby needs milk to survive. A person needs a coffin when they die. We need air to breathe and water to drink, but no one needs guilt, pride, or shame. A farmer needs a field to plow, a writer needs paper and pen, but no one needs to feel pain or unhappiness in their life."

"No one should die before their time, but these things happen sometimes. The most we can do is forgive and forget, and walk the path that is in front of us. You see, people use other people. They hurt them and abuse them, and heaven help me, I am so tired of feeling used and abused. Hey, I just thought of another constant. Darkness always turns to light, night turns to day, wrong turns to right. Don't you see, Draco, it's a crying shame if you stay locked up and hide away from me. It is a shame, that's what it is. It's not fair, and it's just not right."

"Draco, I have one more thing to say, and then I will leave you alone." She pressed her cheek firmly against the wooden doorframe. "The jaws of death will eventually envelope all of us. None of us is exempt. Nothing we do in the future and nothing we have done in the past can change that. Love and hope weave in and out of our lives, and we can either ignore them or obey them, but our only victory is if we let them conquer us. It's a small price to pay, Draco. I love you. Please, please, come out and tell me you love me, too. I can't forgive myself, if you don't forgive yourself."

The door opened just a crack. He reached out with his right hand, forgetting for a moment that it was the one that was broken and bleeding from the shattered mirror. She looked at his hand, and she tentatively took it in hers. She opened the door wider, and when she entered the bathroom, he could not meet her gaze. He was silent, so very silent. It almost scared her. She wanted to go get her wand, to heal his hand, but she was afraid if she left, he might lock the door again, and not allow her entrance. She saw his wand on the floor. She picked it up, and said a healing spell over his hand. It mended the bones and the lacerations. She put his hand under the water, leading him as if he were a child. She soothingly washed the blood from his hand. She patted it dry just as gently.

He had yet to look in her eyes. He didn't know if he ever could again.

She dropped his hand and stood before him. He reached for her waist. His fingers pulled gently at the material of her dress, as it was wrapped around her body. He pulled her closer to him. He dropped to his knees, in an act of reparation, and he wrapped his arms around her. He rested his cheek against her stomach, and Draco Malfoy cried. He cried anguished, relentless tears, reminiscent of the tears he cried the night he lost her, when he thought she had not met him at the park.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck and cried with him.

How many minutes passed, she would not know, she only knew when his tears ended. They remained as statues carved together for all time, never to part. His knees ached from the tiled floor, her neck hurt from bending down and offering him her tears of reply.

"Draco?" she asked once more. "Please, say something, anything."

He stood up and leaned against the sink, facing her. "How can you not hate me?"

"Hate's a wasted emotion, and it takes too much energy," she said. She walked up to him and he parted his legs slightly, so she could lean against his chest. Her lips kissed his neck, the feel of his stubble rubbing against her jaw. She put her hands on the sides of his face, and kissed one eye, and then the other. "Please, don't let this change things. It will be useless anyway, because nothing will stop me from loving you."

He shook his head and pushed her away. "Love? You love me? How can you love me?" He started toward the hall and she grabbed his arm.

"Draco, I am so tired of everyone questioning why I love you, but I expect it from everyone else, nonetheless, I don't expect it from you!" she charged. "You have to believe me that it doesn't affect how I feel for you. I have loved you from the moment I saw you in your car in the village the day you came to pick me up, and that's the truth, and I didn't know why at the time. It made no sense to me, but now it does, because we are meant to be together! Don't make me feel wrong for loving you! Don't make he question how I feel! Do not make me regret the only truthful emotion I have ever had! It's not your right to take my love away from you!" Out of her anger, she rushed up to him and pushed him. He was shocked. She raised her hand and slapped his face.

"You can't make me hate you!" She pushed him again, and he staggered into the wall. She raised the same hand and slapped his face again, this time even harder. He placed his hand over his cheek, his eyes wide in astonishment and disbelief. He thought that her beating him up was a hell of a way to console him.

"Don't you dare say this is wrong!" She pushed him for the third time, and he was now flushed up against the wall, with nowhere else to go. He stared at her in silent appreciation at her passion and commitment, but he could not change how he felt. He did not feel worthy of her. Even though she felt she belonged with him, he no longer felt he belonged with her.

She grabbed his collar, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hit him again. He winced and waited for the onslaught. Instead, she threw her hands around his neck and cried into his chest. "You promised me…you promised me we would be okay, and that you would forgive yourself! You promised."

He pushed her away, and took her wrist in his hands. He said, "Stop it, Hermione! Desperation does not become you! I need time to process this and to think."

"No, you need time to figure out how to run away from me!" she reasoned. "You are going to leave me, and I swear, I won't survive you leaving me!" She wrenched her wrists from his hands and went up to his attic, temporary forgetting that it was not her own.

She walked around the small attic space, not knowing what to do to help him, and not knowing if she was strong enough to keep hanging on, when there was no one there to catch her if she fell.

She walked over to his canvas, and she looked at her portrait for the first time. It was beautiful. Hermione could not believe it was she. She threw the sheet back over the painting, not wanting to impede on his privacy, for she felt this picture was his private thoughts on her. She sat down on the wooden planked floor, next to the easel, and she leaned against the small portal window. She didn't even know what time it was. She knew she was hungry, and she knew that the sky was pink, denoting twilight. She knew she had to go to the bathroom. And she knew she had the beginnings of a massive headache. She looked down at the floor, and then her eyes scanned the room. She saw a wooden crate, and she knew this was the crate that contained the letters that she had written him. She stood up and picked up the box. She brought it back to her place by the window. She sat back down and began to rummage through its contents. She saw all the familiar letters, in her handwriting, tied back up with the green ribbon. She put the letters aside, and saw another letter, one in his handwriting. Was this the letter he wrote her last night? As soon as she thought that question, she realized that it could not be, for it was still in her book. She unfolded the letter and began to read. She quickly realized it was the letter he wrote to her when he realized she wasn't coming to meet him. It broke her heart.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_When I think of how I lost you, sometimes I feel like I have lost myself, too. I swear each day that by tomorrow, I will feel better, but then tomorrow comes, and so does my pain, and I hurt all over again.__I have cried when I am alone at night, and no one can hear me. I cannot even sleep anymore. I feel like a prisoner that was left alone to die. I don't mean to accuse you, but you have caused me more pain than I ever thought I would feel. I just want to die, because all I want to do is hold you tight and love you forever, and I now know that will never happen._

X

(She stopped reading for a moment, and realized that her returning to him had caused him more pain than he felt when she didn't meet him. How could she live with that unhappiness?)

X

the letter continued:

_The touch of your hand will always be a dream, and my lips will forever ache for your taste, but I will remember your face until it fades from my view as death claims me someday. I sometimes wonder if losing you was my punishment for all my sins. Why did I have to love you, only to lose you?__This heartache won't bring you back to me, and I know that you and I were probably never meant to be, and that will be my burden to bear._

X

(Hermione's burden to bear was the fact that they **were** meant to be, but they would not be. He asked why he had to find her to lose her. Well, she wanted to know the same thing. Why did she have to find him, Draco, not the him from the letters, but Draco, now only to lose him?)

X

the letter continued:

_Every man must make up his own mind, to carry the load, or fall behind. I have done both, but I would not do both again. I will close my eyes from love for now and forever, and I will close my heart at well, because I can't stand this pain.__I still love you. It would be easier if I hated you, but I've hated you before, and I've love you now, and believe me; love is easier, even if it hurts more.__I don't even know how to close this letter. Goodbye just does not seem final enough; however, there is nothing else to say. _

_So, goodbye, _

_Your friend no longer_

* * *

This letter and its sentiments made her so angry that she could hit Draco Malfoy over the head with a frying pan! If he wanted to wallow in guilt and past mistakes, fine let him wallow away. She took the letter, and ran down the stairs. He was sitting alone in the dining room in the dark. She rushed up to him and he put his arms over his face.

"Don't hit me again!" he said. "Especially not in the face."

She took the letter, balled it in her fist, and threw it at him. He picked it up and looked at it briefly. "Is that what you want?" she asked. "Do you want the pain and loneliness that you expressed in this goodbye letter? If that's what you want, you can have it. I can't induce you to forgive yourself. I can't make you stay with me, and forgive me and love me! I cannot. You have freewill, so use it however you want. I will stay tonight, because it's getting late, and if you want me to, I will leave in the morning. I've forgiven myself, I really, truly have. If you can't seem to do the same, I don't want you anyway!" He sat back down and smoothed out the wrinkles in the letter.

She started to walk away, only to rush back and hit him upside the head, hard, with her open hand. "Don't make the wrong choice!"

"Ouch, Granger! I said not the face!" he said, as his hand cradled the side of his head.

She ran up the stairs, and locked herself in the bathroom this time.

He read his letter, and then he stood up, went to the kitchen and threw it in the rubbish bin. He went to the library to write her a different letter, because, after all, she was right. He was right earlier today, when he said that before she could preach to him about forgiving himself, that she needed to forgive herself first. Now, she was right when she said that she had done just that, so all that was left in the way of their happiness was he. He needed to think about that for a while.

When he emerged from the library, his new letter to her in his hand, he walked around the downstairs to search for her. He was about to head upstairs when he found her in the kitchen, eating. She must have taken another shower, for her hair was wet, and she was dressed for bed.

He smiled at her, and said, "If I sit here with you, do you promise not to hit me again?"

"I don't know if I can promise that, but you can risk it, I guess," she said, taking a bite of her eggs.

"Hey, I'm hungry, too," he said. He placed the new letter on the table, and got up and grabbed a fork. He sat back down across from her and took a bite of her eggs. She scooted her plate closer to him.

"So, what have you decided? Is being with me worth all the pain and suffering you have already experienced, and are likely to experience again?" she asked.

He put his fork down, and pushed the letter closer to her. He said, "Here, read this and find out."


	29. Parallel Lives

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 29 –Parallel Lives:**

Draco's final letter to Hermione -

* * *

_Dearest Hermione, _

_You told me earlier tonight that there were 'constants' in this life. There are also needs and wants.__I need your love; however, I want you to be happy.__  
__I need to be with you forever, however, I want you to be happy.__I need your forgiveness; however, I want you to be happy._

_How can I have what I want and what I need at the same time? It's confusing._

_Here are my life lessons for you; I was an arrow without a bow, until you came and gave your life to me. I was cancer without a cure, until you set my heart free. When I hear a song, it sounds off key, unless you're the one who sings it._

_Your gentle laughter and wondrous smile are my constants, along with your endearing beauty and questioning eyes. You give me overwhelming fulfillment, and a life of surprises. You give me the hope of a life of light, a feeling of pure love.__I see you here with me today, but I also see you drifting far away from me, but whether you're near or far, I don't want you ever to take your love from me. _

_I could lose all my worldly possessions, but nothing would break my heart more than if I lost your love, because that would hurt me the most.__Our love is stronger than anything that can try to tear it apart. It's longer than anything we can measure._

_ If I look to the past, I lose my way; it's only in my future that I know I'll be all right.__You can see right through me, through the lies, which you don't believe, and my pain, which you alone can heal. Loving you is like a beautiful symphony and I don't want it to ever end.__I know that I'm rambling and not really coming to the point._

_The point is that I love you no matter what. You can't ask more of me than I know how to give, though, so I don't know if I can forgive myself, but I'll try, and maybe some day, with your love, I find the redemption that I need to forgive. I feel the weight of your world upon my shoulders, and while I admit I still find myself questioning my fate and my place in this world, I cannot picture it without you. _

_Heal me Hermione, take my burden from me, and heal me.__I love you so much.__Forgive me, and I'll try to forgive me, too.__Love, Your friend forever! _

_Draco_

* * *

Hermione picked up the folded piece of parchment, which had her name written on the outside, and read it. As she read, Draco ate the rest of her eggs. She read it the second time and she looked over at him, with a confused look on her face, and while holding the letter up in one hand, she said, "SO? What does this mean?"

He put his fork down and said, "Must I slap you to make you understand?"

"If you do, you will be sorry," she responded with a smile.

"I have no doubt. My face still stings. Okay, here's what it means," Draco started. He walked over to her chair, which she pushed out from the table. He sat down on her lap and put his arms around her. "I love you, and you love me, and I don't know what the future will bring, but I want to give it a go, with you."

She said, "Are you sure you aren't a plagiarist, because you're so much more eloquent with the written word."

He thought on that for a moment, and said, "Maybe I just get all tongue tied when I'm around you, because I love you so much."

She said, "Get off me, you really are getting heavy. Let's see that gut." She pulled his shirt up. Still taut.

He said, "I have been eating in the kitchen a lot, lately." He got off her lap and sat in one of the chairs. "If we continue to eat in the kitchen, does that mean we must play into all the stereotypes of kitchen eaters?"

She laughed at the thought of what a 'kitchen eater' was, and then she asked, "What stereotypes?"

"Well," he started, "should I bang on the table and say, 'get me my dinner, woman!' or should I pick my nose and scratch my bum, like the common people do?"

Hermione stood from the table, came over to him, and sat on his lap. "You mean you think we're low class and common if we sit at the kitchen table to eat? Do you mean those stereotypes?"

"No, I meant, Muggles in general," he said. He pushed her off his lap when he saw her hand rise in the air. He didn't even offer to help her up, as he ran around to the other side of the table. "See, another stereotypes of low class Muggles, spousal abuse!"

"You deserve it," she said, still on the floor. He walked around the other side of the table, took both her outstretched hands in his, but instead of pulling her to stand up, he just pulled her. He pulled her along the floor to the doorway.

"This is another stereotype," he said. "The caveman picks his woman up by the hair and drags her across the floor. You're lucky I'm using your hands to drag you."

He let go off her hands after they crossed the threshold of the kitchen to the dining room. She stood up all on her own. She said, "I wonder how Monica's doing?"

"Why ruin our evening thinking about that?" he asked.

"I need to go over there, and check on her," she decided.

He came up to her so quickly, that she was shocked. He threw her over his shoulder and walked into the lounge. He said, "Stereotype, protecting my woman, not letting her come to harm." He threw her on the couch. He jumped up and landed on her.

"Oomph!" she uttered as his weight came down on her. He moved so he was lying beside her, with her back up against the couch. "Seriously, Draco, I need to check on her, mainly for my dad and my brothers' sakes. She was in a terrible state when we left."

He stroked her face and said, "I hope she's been driven insane. She's evil personified. She embodies all that's bad and evil in your life. I don't want you to go there. Anyway, you already have your little pajamas on, and how cute, little pink shorts and a white t-shirt, with a little pink bow on top." He fingered the bow on her t-shirt. "What are those little animals on it?" He looked at the design. "No, it's hearts. Adorable." He said it condescendingly, as he traced some of the little hearts with his fingers.

"Are you making fun of my sleeping attire? You ruined the only nightgown I brought," she reminded him.

"No, I think you ripped it on my gate, so don't blame me. Don't you own any sexy night things, like teddies, or negligees, or crotchless undies?"

"Stereotype, Malfoy! Those kinds of things are not comfortable to sleep in, and I find it stupid to put on something fancy just so the man can take them off you to have sex. You can take these off me just as easily," she said.

"Don't mind if I do," he said. He reached for the hem of her nightshirt, and started to pull it over her head. She laughed and tried to keep it in place.

She finally pushed him off the couch. He landed on his back and said, "Is it your goal to kill me today?"

"Not today," she said, leaning her head over the side of the couch to look at him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her so she was on top of him.

"Kiss me, Hermione Jean Granger. Kiss me hard and long and with passion."

"Still not very poetic," she said firmly, while still on top of his body. He reached up for a sofa pillow and put it under his head. He put one hand on her bottom, and the other hand moved up and down her back.

"Okay, you want a poem, here's your poem," Draco began:

"Here we are, bound together; here we are, joining lives. Here we are now, it's a new day, and here we are now, you and I."

"As we travel, this road together, as we sing, heart's lullabies, here we are now, once a memory, here we are now, you and I."

"As we journey through the stages and as we sample life's replies, as we map out each day's dawning, as we greet each night's goodbyes."

"As we carry, on with our burden's, greet life's sorrows with new tears cried, as we live now, our lives together, here we are now, you and I."

"Here we are now, bound together, here we are now, with love sublime, here we are now, a new beginning, here we are now, you and I."

She stared at him for a moment, and said, "You didn't just think that up, did you?"

"Those, my dear, our my wedding vows to you, and I wrote them many, many months ago," he said honestly. He brought his mouth to hers, kissed her sweetly, and said, "Poetic enough for you?"

She slipped off his body to lay down on the floor next to him she said, "A bit sappy, but okay I guess."

He looked at her quickly, and she was smiling. Draco said, with feigned disdain, "You wound me woman, wound me to the core. You have taken my poetic side and it's as if you've taken a dagger to it, cut it to shreds, and it's bleeding out, and it will soon wither away to nothingness. My artistic side, which was joined at the hip with my poetic side, is bleeding from the severing of their ties."

She frowned and said with fake disdain, "Well now, that's not very original."

He said, "I shall give you original!" He started to tickle her, and as she hit at his hands with hers, he sat up and straddled her body. He put both her hands in his left hand, and his right hand touched her face. As her laughter slowed, and finally ceased, he brought his mouth back down on hers. He rimmed her mouth with his tongue, before he took her mouth fully with his and pressed them closer together.

He rolled off her, stood up, and said, "I'm going to go get a quick shower, and then we're going to make love on the rug here, so don't bother getting up. I want you willing and waiting for me when I return."

She stayed on her back on the floor and yelled, "STEREOTYPE!"

He looked back at her and smiled. He was about to ascend the stairs when there was a knock on the door. It was Hermione's father. Draco could see him from the window. He went over and opened the door. Draco debated not answering, but when he saw Hermione walking through the lounge, heading toward the foyer, he decided that he must.

He opened the door, with Hermione standing right behind him.

"Dad?" Hermione asked, surprised to see him.

"Hermione, I need to know what you did to your stepmother today. She's quite undone. We've kept her sedated most of the day, but when she comes around, she doesn't make any sense, and she starts crying. Martin wants to take her to Hospital, but I want to know what you did to her first." He didn't seem angry, and he wasn't accusing.

"Do you really want to know?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, I do."

"I won't tell you, but I'll show you," she said. She took her father's hand and led him to the living room. She walked back to a surprised Draco and said, "Would you go get my wand?"

"I can't go through that again, Granger!" Draco said suddenly. "I can't see those things again!"

She put her hand on his arm and said, "I wouldn't ask you too, I'll show my father myself. It is easier that way. When I told Martin and Mike all my memories, and about my life, it took hours. Just go get my wand."

"Hermione," Draco said, looking at her father through the archway, and leading her closer to the stairs. "Do you want to drive your father into insanity, too? Don't do it."

"I have to, and he's stronger than that, I know he is. I'll go get my wand." She ran up the stairs, with Draco on her heels.

She walked back out of the bedroom, and he was waiting for her with a hesitant look on his face. "Please, don't." He didn't want her to go through it again, either.

As if sensing his apprehension, she said, "I'll be fine. We both will, so go get your shower." She stood on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and ran back downstairs.

After his shower, he cautiously went back into the lounge. Her father was holding her on the couch, rocking her back and forth, and he was crying. He was saying things like, "it's all my fault", and "I'm so sorry", and "I never knew". Draco sat down on the other end of the couch. He reached over and touched her shoulder, so she would know he was there.

She looked up, met his eyes, and he saw that she was not crying this time. She was the one comforting her father.

He understood another look in her eyes. She wanted to be alone with her dad. He stood back up and though it was not yet nine o'clock, he went to his bedroom. He pulled down the covers and threw his body on top of the mattress. He propped his upper body on top of four pillows, and waited.

She finally came upstairs. He had heard the front door shut, so he knew her father had finally left. She walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, near his thighs. She turned to him slightly, and then with her hand on his chest, she climbed over his body, to lie beside him. He gave her two of his pillows, and as they lay together, she said, "My dad has a lot of healing to do, as well."

"We all do," he said.

She sat up in the bed, against the headboard, and he joined her. She turned to look at him and she said, "My dad said that their marriage was rocky from the start. He said that she was the most beautiful girl in the village, but she was proud and vain. He said that he loved her despite that, but that he didn't think she ever really loved him. He said that she probably married him because of his money, and position in the community. After they had the boys, she desperately wanted a daughter. She never wanted sons, my dad said."

Draco held Hermione's hand as she continued her dad's story. "She finally became pregnant again, after Mike. She was sure it was a girl. Positive. That was the summer that my dad had to leave to go back to school for his surgical training, the summer he met my mum. You know that story, so I won't rehash it," she said.

"When my dad came back, he said he didn't care that she was pregnant, he was in true love for the first time in his life, with my mum, and he said he was determined to take my brothers away, and marry my mother. Therefore, when he came back, he told Monica about the affair, and that he didn't love her, and he was going to take the boys and try to find some happiness for them all. He told her he didn't care if it was selfish of him, because in the long run, it was for the best."

"They fought bitterly, and she asked how he could even think about leaving his pregnant wife. He told her child or not, he didn't want a loveless marriage. They continued to fight, and as he was running down the stairs, to leave, both boys holding his hands, she followed. They boys and he stood in the foyer and watched as the toe of her shoe caught on the runner on the stairs. She fell down the stairs and she suffered a miscarriage as the result. She was five months pregnant. It was a girl."

Draco did not even know how to respond to that, so he remained quiet. "She lost her baby, the girl she had always so desperately wanted, so he knew then that he couldn't leave her. He had to stay. He said he spent the rest of his life trying to make it up to her. He felt he owed her retribution. He said he ignored her anger and the pain she inflicted on their sons and on me, because of his guilt. He said that she especially hated me, because she felt I was the reason she lost her own baby, even though my dad didn't know about me until years later, she still blamed me, not my mother, not my dad, but me, for her losing her baby, and because I was the girl that she wanted. Twisted, huh?"

Draco finally said, "It's weird how their lives almost parallel our own. It makes me see how her grief ate at her soul, and her inability to forgive drove her mad. If you hadn't been able to forgive yourself, or me, you would have ended up just like her. It also makes me see that because your father had never forgiven himself, he in effect stopped living."

"Right, so that means you have to forgive yourself, because you don't want to end up like him," she concluded, her hands framing his face. "And I have to forgive myself and you, so I don't end up like her. You see that, don't you Draco?"

He did. He finally did.


	30. To Be Held

**all characters belong to JKR**

**Chapter 30 – To be Held:**

"What time is it?" she asked as she sat beside him on the bed.

"No idea and I don't care," he said back.

"Don't you have a watch?" she asked.

"Yes, and it's on the vanity in the bathroom," he answered.

"Don't you have an alarm clock?" she asked.

"No, I don't ever need to be woken up at any certain time," he said. He patted her arm and said, "Just shut up and go to sleep now."

She fell on her back, only to sit back up, and with her hand still on his stomach she said, "That's a free pass. Next time you tell me to shut up you will rue the day. Go to the hall and look at the grandfather clock and tell me the time."

He sat up and said, "Really? You really think I'll get out of bed just to tell you the time?" He almost laughed at her.

"You wouldn't do that for me?" she asked with a beguiling smile.

"Fine, this is your free pass," he grumbled. He climbed out of bed and ran out to the hall. The clock said 12:00 on the nose. He came back and she wasn't in bed. "Granger?" he asked. She couldn't have left, because the door leading to the hallway was in his line of vision the whole time. He looked under the covers, under the bed, and then he picked up one of the pillows. "Granger?" he asked again.

She was standing by the window, looking outside. "For goodness sakes, I'm right here. Did you really think I was under the pillow?"

"It's dark in here, I didn't know where you were, and you didn't answer me when I called and hey…I just realized, you're out of bed, you could have gone and looked at the time," he said, coming up to her. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"The time?" she asked.

"It's 2:30 am," he lied.

She looked back and him and said, "It can't be. My dad left at 11:30 for goodness sakes. If I find out you're telling me a falsehood, I'll be very angry. You're never to lie to me again, because I think you know that I'm not above corporeal punishment." She pushed away from him and went to look at the grandfather clock. It was 12:04 am. Hermione came back in the room, but couldn't find him. Unlike how he could not find her, because he was not really looking, she really could not find him.

"Malfoy?"

"Behind the door, I'm hiding from you," he answered.

"If you're hiding from me, you aren't supposed to tell me," she reprimanded. She pulled on the door so she could look at him.

"You told me not to lie to you ever again," he said with a small smile. "Therefore, I'm in what's known as a quagmire."

"Yes, I can see the dilemma you're facing," she said. "On the one hand, lying comes so natural to you; on the other, other hand, you don't want me to smack your pretty face again, so you don't want to lie. You are in a quagmire. I'm surprised you even know what that word means."

She sat down on the bed. He turned to look at her and the light in the room, though scarce, afforded enough illumination so that he could see her features. He came to her, sat down next to her, and said, "You are so pretty."

"Really now?" she said smiling. He took her hand and turned it over to look at her palm.

Then, he said something that caught her totally off guard. "Where's your son buried?"

"In a Muggle cemetery, in my family plot, with my mother, my grandparents, and my great aunt," she answered. When she did not seem put off by his question, he asked another.

"What did you name him?" He put her hand between both of his and their arms and legs touched, giving him warmth and courage, for some odd reason.

"I named him Kevin, after my grandfather, and Richard, after my father," she said. She looked over to him, and looked right in his eyes.

"Do you like this house?" he asked.

She smiled before she answered. "It's nice, but it could use another bathroom. A four bedroom house with one bathroom, seriously?" she said grinning.

"Do you want to live here with me?" he asked. He looked back at her hand again, afraid to look in her eyes.

She removed her hand from his, and stood up in front of him. She put her hands on his shoulders and said simply, "I'd like that."

He hugged her and held her against him, his head resting on her bosom, his arms around her waist. Her arms were around his neck and shoulders. "You know," he started, "we could bring your son's remains here. There is a wizard cemetery in that village I took you to that day, or we could make a small cemetery here on this property. I don't know what Roger would make of that."

"I'm not sure Roger even knows where he's buried," she admitted. She sat on his knee, and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand on his bare chest. "All we had for the baby was a graveside service, which Roger didn't even attend. It was the day I left hospital. Harry took care of all of the arrangements; bless his soul, because that must have been so hard. There was only Ron, Harry, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George and Bill there. No one else."

Draco frowned and then touched her cheek. "Roger didn't go to his own son's burial?"

"No, he didn't, but perhaps it was too painful for him. You see, I think Roger wanted to have a son, more than he wanted to be a father, if that makes sense. I think he never really felt like my baby's father, because Kevin wasn't yet a real thing to him, but I carried him inside me all those months, so to me, I was always his mummy. Roger never got to feel what it was like to be a father."

"Hey, Granger, I just thought of something," Draco said. She brought her head up from his shoulder and looked at him in the moonlight.

"What?" she asked.

"I could be his father."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She was shocked at his statement, to say the least. She knew he was sincere, and she was at a loss for words. Numbness started in her lips, and traveled through her body, down her spinal column. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She didn't want him to take her tears the wrong way, so she hid her face again.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I don't know why I said it," he apologized. He brushed his hand lightly up and down her back. "Don't cry, please. I'm sorry."

"I'm not crying. I almost did, but I'm okay," she said. "That was just a really touching thing to say. I don't know how to respond."

She stood up from his lap, to lie down, her head on his leg. He continued to stroke her head, as he sat on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor. "It's not weird for me to talk about your baby this way, is it?"

She looked up at him and said, "Heavens, no. I want to talk about him. I like talking about him, and I never have anyone to whom I can talk. It makes me feel close to him. It helps me." She put her head back on his leg. "Sometimes I catch myself almost saying something about him, and I have to stop myself. When I was staying with Harry, I was afraid to talk about him, because I knew my friends would be embarrassed and ill at ease. My family didn't know, so I couldn't talk to them. Roger, well, obviously he was not there for me. I like talking about him, it's not weird."

Draco fell back on the bed, and she moved so she was on her side, by his side. "When did you and Roger divorce?" He started to play with her hair. She drew small circles on his chest.

"The day I got out of hospital, we had the service for my son, and then Harry took me to my house. Roger had already changed the locks. We knocked, and he answered, and he had all my things packed. Ron and Harry took them to Harry's house, and Roger and I stayed in the living room and talked."

"He was nice enough, he never raised his voice, but he told me he didn't love me, he couldn't forgive me, and that our child was the only thing holding our marriage together, and since that wasn't a concern any longer, there was no reason to stay together. He asked me if I wanted anything from the house. It was his house, when we married, and I hadn't changed a thing from the day I married him to the day I left him, so it never felt like my home anyway. Just as always, I never really belonged there, so I told him no, just the things he packed for me, that was all I needed and wanted. That was almost six months ago."

"That's brutal," Draco said.

"No, it's probably the most truthful thing Roger and I ever did during our marriage," she affirmed. "It's the way it should have been. The whole time I lived there, I felt like a visitor. As I said, I never changed a thing. I never hung a picture, bought a vase, nothing. It was fine. I still own my grandparent's house. It is rented out right now, but I own it. I just went and stayed at Harry's until the day I decided to come here."

"Is your divorce final?" Draco asked. She moved to her back now, and he moved to his side. They traded positions. He put his hand on her stomach, and she put hers in his hair.

"Yes, it's final. It was final the day before I came here. We got an annulment, easier that way, with the way wizarding laws are. I got my final papers, and called my dad that morning, and booked a train the afternoon, and left the next morning. I just bought a ticket and thought, well I have nowhere else to go."

"You know what I think it was," she asked. He shook his head no. "I think I wanted to come here because I was numb for so very long, not feeling anything, and I knew if I came here, at least I would feel again. They might not have been good feelings, but they would have at least been feelings."

"When did you quit your job?" he asked.

"I quit before the accident. I thought I was starting a new life, with the man of my dreams." She smiled up at him. "So, along with my fresh start, I thought I needed a new profession, whatever that might be. I do know I need a rest, but I eventually want to do something. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but I know I don't want to sit around sunbathing, gossiping with friends, and eating bonbons."

Draco looked puzzle and asked, "Bonbons?"

"Sweets," she said.

"Oh."

"Stupid stereotype," she said. "What do you do for a living, wait a minute," she interrupted herself and sat up suddenly. He remained on his side. "Don't you think it's strange, how we're in love, and we wrote letters for ten months, back and forth, telling each other every little aspects of our lives, and yet, there's so much we don't know about each other. We're just now finding out the types of things that people find out when they first start dating, not after they're already in love."

"Yes, it's strange, but we started at a weird place. I mean, I knew who you were in the beginning, but you had to hide so much from me, and you never knew who I was, so of course, it goes without saying that I had to hide things from you," he reasoned. "Now, may I answer the question?"

"I forgot what it was." She laughed. She really did. "Oh, yes, well, really I asked two questions. I asked what you did for a living, and then I asked if you thought it was strange that we didn't know anything about each other. Which one are you going to answer?" she asked.

"Since one is a genuine question, and the other is rhetorical, I'll answer the first," he decided. He moved back up on the pillows, rested his head thereon, and she had no choice but to follow. "I don't do anything for a living. I paint, draw, listen to music, and just try to get up every morning and make it through the day. Are you very ashamed of your lay-a-bout boyfriend?"

"A bit," she joked. "Do I understand you to say that you live off your money, go to parties, nightclubs, living the life of a playboy, different bloke every night?"

"Bloke?" he asked, confused.

She really laughed and said, "I meant bird, woman, you know. I'm so tired. I wasn't implying anything, honest. I know you like to have sex with women. You aren't too bad at it either."

"You're more evil than people give you credit for, Hermione," Draco leered. "And, what you just said is a stereotype as well, you know, that whole rich party boy. Now to answer your rhetorical question from earlier…" he began.

She interrupted. "You can't really answer a rhetorical question," she said. "Although my question to you about our 'strangeness' wasn't really rhetorical, it was a literal question. Don't you think it's strange that we're just now finding out personal things about each other?" She yawned.

He pulled her over to his chest and said, "It's slightly disarming that we're just now finding out personal things about the other, but like I said before, you didn't know who I was, so I could hardly tell you facts about my life. I mean, I shared many personal experiences and thoughts to you, but not factual things, or actual dates, places, people, for obvious reasons."

"That's true, and I couldn't share a lot of things with you either," she said.

"Right," he said, "I knew who you were. I knew your name, where you went to school, what you did for a living, who your friends were, but you didn't share anything about your biography. I knew your hopes and dreams, fears and such, but you kept so much from me, and also for obvious reasons. I'm grateful for what you did tell me, but why didn't you tell me about your childhood?"

She thought for a moment and hummed before she started talking, "Hmmm, well, I was so used to keeping it away from everyone, my friends, and my grandparents, that it was just the natural order of things. I didn't share that part of my life with anyone, until this week, and with you." She yawned again. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Go to sleep now," he ordered. "It'll be strange to wake up in the morning and not have a feeling of foreboding," he admitted.

She chuckled and said, "The feeling of dread and gloom has finally lifted, and you're complaining?"

"Not complaining, mind you," he said, "and it was never dread and gloom, it was more anxiety than anything else. Wondering if this was the day that you were going to share your secret with me. At the beginning of the week, I worried about when you would discover that I was the man from the letters, and then I worried about when you would forgive me. That sort of thing." He finally yawned.

They both turned to face each other at the same time and she said, "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Very good thing," he said. He touched her lips with his fingertips, and then brought them down her jaw, to her neck, to her shoulder, arm, and ending at her hand. He held her hand. "Just different. It will take some getting used to, that's all. For you and me to be a normal couple will be strange."

"I think you're right, there, Malfoy," she said. She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed the top. "I am so very tired." She closed her eyes.

"Go to sleep, Hermione," he commanded for the second time since they went to bed. He then asked, "Hey, one more thing…why were you afraid to sleep alone before?"

She opened her eyes again and said, "When I was alone at night I would think about my baby the most, especially at night. I would imagine I was holding him, singing to him, reading to him. I would yearn to touch him, hold him. When I had someone else with me, I could hold them, and they held me, and it made me feel better. It gave me something else to focus on; I could concentrate on their breathing, their conversations, or in Ron's case, his snoring." She could not help it, she yawned again. "Now, your turn, why did you hate sleeping alone?"

He contemplated not telling her. It had been going on for years. When he closed his eyes at night, he would see all the terrible things he had done in his life and regretted. He would see things that happened in his childhood home, and he regretted. He would see things that his father had done, and regret it. He would see Snape kill Dumbledore, he would see Bellatrix torture Hermione, he would see Death Eaters killing Muggle-borns in his home, and he would hear their screams from the dungeons at the Manor. He would see Voldemort. He would see his father reduced to nothing and his mother reduced to next to nothing.

How could he tell her that? He said, "I just have insomnia sometimes." That was enough of an answer, and he didn't feel it was a lie, so he could tell her that cryptic version without feeling any regret at all.

He pulled her over to him, and held her tightly in his arms. His fingers squeezed the muscle and skin of her arms. His fingertips went slowly down her arm, and back up again. It was as if he was holding her for the first time, examining her with his hands, and arms. He reached up and touched her face, fingertips softly gliding over forehead, cheeks, lips, nose, ears, and chin. He touched her neck, and let his hand traveled down the swell of her breasts.

He said, "This little pajama top really is silly. Remind me to buy you some proper nightclothes, Granger. Hey, Granger? Are you asleep?" There was no answer. His hand went down to her waist, and touched the bare skin between her top and her bottoms. His fingers went softly over the bare skin he found there. He turned his head and kissed the top of her hair.

She looked up at him. She wasn't asleep. Hermione came up on her elbow, and kissed him passionately on the mouth, her mouth lingering many long moments. She rested her forehead against his and he shut his eyes.

"I hope your insomnia goes away and never comes back," she said. She rested her head once more on his chest. "I know the unspoken things, Draco. I know."

He knew she did. He also knew this was real, and that he would find the comfort he needed, here in her arms. Maybe the only thing he ever needed was to be held.


	31. The End, The Beginning

**all characters belong to JKR and I make no money from their use**

**Chapter 31: The End, the Beginning:**

_(One Year Later)_

"The things that we should be the most grateful for," the minister said, "are our families and our friends. If you are one of the lucky few, who can have your family be your friends that is even better yet. The love these two provide to the other is a testament to the fact that what started as friends, could grown to produce a family, in both words and actions. When counting all their blessings, they can count one thing as the most important, the fact that their love will never end."

He continued, "When people love each other they can weather any storm. When two people love each other, they will never come to any harm. When they love one another, they become one, one heart, one mind, one body, one soul, forever and all time."

"All of you gathered in this little chapel today shall bear witness to the bonding of this man and woman. Let them travel on together, their journey easy, their load light, the way long and narrow, with no curves, or detours. May their experiences guide them down the path of eternal happiness, which they so richly deserve."

"Now, if anyone here knows of any just cause why this man and woman shall not be joined, please speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Draco leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "Thank the sky above that Monica is still tightly locked up in the loony bin."

She smiled, but leaned over and said, "It's a sanitarium, and hush."

He mouthed, "Same thing," and blew her a kiss. She shook her head, and smiled.

The bride and groom exchanged simple vows, which they wrote themselves, and after their vows, the minister said, "Go in peace, love and happiness, that only you may find with the other. You may now bless this union with a kiss."

Draco leaned over and gave Hermione a simple, but meaningful kiss on her lips. Simple yes, but it meant more than she could tell him.

After the kiss, the Minister said, "May I present Dr. and Mrs. Martin Granger!"

The whole congregation erupted in applause. Hermione felt a tear fall down her cheek. Draco leaned over and wiped it away. As they stood, to watch the newly married couple leave the church, he said, "That will be us up there next, Granger."

"Could be, you never know," she said. She took his hand and they walked outside.

The wedding of Martin Granger and Maureen Mohr was a small affair. It was also belated. They had originally planned on marrying late last summer, but with all that had occurred with Martin's mother, the original wedding was cancelled. Then, Martin decided that he really wanted to learn magic. The Ministry arranged for him to take special classes, which took him over eight months. He still had a lot to learn, but his little sister was an excellent teacher.

Therefore, they waited almost a year. Here they were, a year later, and they were finally married, a complete family, and everyone was incredibly happy and relieved. The reception was held in the back garden of Dr. Richard Granger's house. Hermione watched her father as he made his way around the garden, greeting his guests and family. He seemed happy, but the spark was gone from his eye. He finally divorced Monica; however, he still visited her every Sunday, even though she didn't know him from Adam.

Michael came walking up to Hermione and handed her a piece of cake. "Where did Draco go?" he asked.

"He's showing everyone the baby," Hermione said, sighing.

"Hey, Malfoy," Michael called out, "I brought you some cake. Come and eat it and let me hold my niece please, I haven't seen her all day."

Draco came over with five-week-old Holly in his arms and said, "Careful, Mike. Hold her head, her little neck is very skinny and her head is really heavy."

Mike laughed and said, "I'll try to remember that."

Hermione joined in the laughter and said, "Words of wisdom, from Draco Malfoy, a baby's neck is too skinny to hold up its head."

Draco took a bite of cake and said, "Well, it is."

Mike rocked the baby back and forth and said, "I think she looks like me, with all those dark little curls."

Hermione smiled. She looked like her, too. She also looked like little Kevin Richard. She reached over and stroked the baby's cheek.

Hermione said, "I think she's hungry, give her to her mummy."

Mike smiled at Hermione and said, "Sure." Martin and Maureen had just walked over, and Mike handed the baby to Maureen.

They all sat down, except for Maureen. She said, "I need to take her in to feed her. I'll be back." She leaned down and kissed Martin's cheek, and she said, "I love you."

Martin beamed. Hermione said, "You seem so happy."

"I am. I have everything I ever wanted. I am married to a wonderful woman, whom I love more than I thought possible, I have two beautiful daughters, and you're here to stay, little sister. I have all that I could possibly ever want or need, right here, right now."

"Hear, hear," Dr. Granger said, sitting down. "Does seem to me that you're doing this a bit backwards, though. Usually people get married and then have the baby, not that I'm judging. I'm the last to ever pass judgment."

Michael laughed and said, "Martin always was strange."

Hermione gave her brother a reproachful look and said, "What about me?" as she put her hand on her ever-expanding stomach. He touched the baby bump that was once his sister's flat stomach and said, "You are the exception, however, you and Malfoy are doing this backwards, too, baby and then marriage."

"Hell, we aren't even that far, as she won't agree to marry me, yet. She won't make an honest man out of me," Draco said, leaning back and putting his arm around Hermione's shoulder. He put his hand on her stomach and left it there.

"Maybe you are the strange one, Mike," Martin said. "At least we both have someone. All you have are the cows and pigs."

Everyone laughed and Mike said, "On that pleasant note, I shall go find better company, someone more my maturity level, and bid you all one big fat goodbye." He called out to Erin and they went to play on the rope swing that hung from a tall tree. Everyone laughed again, and then their father excused himself as well, and left the table.

Martin moved over to Michael's abandoned seat next to Hermione. "So, any day now, aye?"

"Yes, any day, and it won't be soon enough. My feet are so swollen. This didn't happen with my first baby," she said. "I mean look at all the weight I've gained!"

"Well, this one is half Malfoy, so its head is probably very large," Martin said. Hermione tried to suppress her smile, and Draco gave him a stare, but then shrugged. He didn't care. He could say whatever he wanted. His baby had to be at least as pretty as Martin's baby, so Draco didn't care if it had a big head, not understanding that Martin meant in the egotistical sort of way.

Martin excused himself as well, which just left Hermione alone with Draco.

"So, Granger, do you still not want to know what the baby's name is going to be?" he asked. He asked her this everyday. The reason being, she told him he could name the baby, and he was the only one who wanted to know the gender. Hermione and her family didn't want to know, for some odd reason. Draco actually felt that Hermione didn't want to know, because she didn't want to form the tight connection with this baby the way she had when she was pregnant with Kevin.

He would be wrong.

She already had a tight connection with this baby. In fact, in many ways, she felt even closer to this baby, if that was possible. She felt like it had its own little guardian angel, its brother, watching out for it. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what Kevin would look like now. He would be a chubby little toddler, running around the yard, with Uncle Michael chasing after him. She put her head on the table and began to cry.

Draco rubbed her back and said, "Hormones?"

She chuckled and said, "Why do you always assume its hormones?" She wiped her eyes. "Take me home, Draco, I'm tired."

He helped her to stand, and they started the walk across the field. He said, "I can go get one of the cars, if the walk is too taxing."

"No, I want to walk," she said.

The truth was that she hadn't been in a car since she knew she was pregnant. The healers always came to their home. She walked everywhere else. She was even planning to deliver at home. He didn't make her feel bad about her phobia at all. He was secretly glad for her fear. He felt he could rest easier, but he would never tell her that.

_(Four Months Later)_

Hermione sat by her son's little gravestone, and placed a single white rose on the ground. Draco stayed in the distance, holding their new son in his arms. He rocked the little baby back and forth. She remained there for a while, and then looked back at Draco. He understood. He came by her side. It was December, and there was a light dusting of snow on the cold, hard ground. Draco didn't care. He kneeled down beside her. He handed their baby to her.

"This is your brother, Kevin. His name is Nicholas Martin. Someday, I'll tell him all about his big brother." She started to cry. She said, "Take the baby from me, Draco." He reached over and took the baby. He looked over his shoulder, and Martin rushed up, and took the baby from him, and then went back to stand next to his father, brother, wife and children. They had all gathered today, for Hermione and Draco's wedding. Hermione wanted to come to the grave first. Perhaps she should have done it after the ceremony, for she was becoming quite undone.

Her happiness was palpable, it hung thick in the air, wrapped around her guilt and sorrow, and she wasn't sure what she was going to do with the hodgepodge swirl of emotions. She took out the words that she had wanted to say to her son, and as she held the piece of parchment, her hands shook. Draco reached over for the paper, and without permission, he decided to take over and read it for her.

Draco read, "To my son: Dear Kevin, no one will ever understand what your life meant to me. Throughout my life, and throughout the years, my days are filled with happiness, but also with sorrow and tears. I hope that someday the memory of you will offer me a peace, eternity, but until then, every place I go and all that I have ever wanted to be, is easier, because your life continues through me."

Hermione reached over for the parchment, and continued. "My values and traditions have been passed on through ages, they shape our past, and develop our futures, and they calm our fears. When I look in the distance, or I look in your brother's eyes, I see your future unfolding, and though it has passed, it is still alive. I know that the memories of you will forever comfort me, and give me tranquility."

"I still see glimpses of your future, which was never allowed to unfold, and you'll always be my child, no matter how old I become, or where I go. You are my child, so dear, so sweet. What would you have looked like? Who would you have been? Did you mean more because you came from me? Don't worry, little boy, your life will continue through your brother, and all the others yet to come. We'll never forget you. I love you so much. I miss you even more." She crumbled the paper, and lay down on the earth again. Draco's heart broke, because Hermione's heart broke the day her son died.

Well today, he was putting her heart back together. He picked up the crumbled piece of paper, and put it in his jacket pocket. Even if she didn't want to keep it, he did. He put his hands on her shoulders, and forced her up. He stood them both up. He leaned over, kissed his own fingertips, and placed them on the smooth white marble headstone. "Goodbye, son," he said. "We both love you."

He turned her around and they walked toward the house. The others had already gone inside. When they reached the porch, she sat down on a bench under the front window. He sat beside her and picked up her hand. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it and said, "Are you ready to get this life started, Granger?"

"I think I am, Malfoy, I really think I am."

"Do you finally feel like you belong, here, with me and our family?" he asked.

She let a small smile creep to her face and she looked over to him, slyly, and said, "You said you loved Kevin."

"I know, and I really do. Odd, isn't it? I didn't even know him, yet I feel I really love him. Maybe it's because how much I love you, or maybe it's because how much I love Nicholas, and maybe it's because I don't even want to imagine what I would do if something happened to him or you. I don't know the reason." He looked embarrassed, as he studied her hand, as he held it in his.

"I do belong here, with you, don't I?" she said.

"Well, seriously, Granger," Draco said, smiling, "I have only been trying to say that to you forever, but you can be so dense sometimes. Maybe that could be my vows to you, at the wedding today. How does this sound: I once knew a girl, who had many curls, right up on top of her head. She was so dense and dumb, and I think she sucked her thumb, and she slaps me really hard on the face when she gets very angry."

"That doesn't even rhyme, and it has no flow," she said, as she laughed.

"Well, hell, Granger they're wedding vows, not a bloody limerick. They aren't supposed to rhyme."

"They aren't supposed to be stupid and arcane either." She shook her head, and said, "And you'll feel really stupid when I say my wonderful vows to you, if you say those stupid vows."

He sighed, a feigned sigh, and said, "Do tell me Shakespeare, what wonderful moving, spiritual words are you going to say to me today?"

She stood up and took his hands. He stood up and faced her.

She said:

"Although my path often stumbled, you were there to take the load. My burden was never too heavy for you, and unknown to you at the time, that was the biggest gift you could have ever have bestowed on me."

"My memories trace their beginning to this place, but as my future unfolds, my thoughts change to what is unknown. My happiness comes when you laugh, when you smile, when you take yourself too seriously. If only we hadn't wasted so much time and energy, we could have found this happiness such a long time ago."

"Like fools we rushed around with our hands reaching up toward the heavens, looking for comfort, peace and love, when everything we ever needed was right here in front of us the whole time."

"And I no longer feel guilty for loving you. I hear other people crying, and I know somewhere in this world there are people broken and abused, and I know there's wars raging, and people dying of starvation, and while I can cry for them, I no longer take the blame. I will offer them my scars, but never bury the guilt of my loving you deep inside me, nor lock it way, ever again. I offer you my love freely, and openly, and without shame. I also offer you rapprochement from our past. I love you." She ended her vows and smiled at him.

"Well, hell, Granger, that's not half bad. Not as good as my vows, but I can tell you put a bit of work in it. Would you like to hear mine?" he asked.

She nodded.

He began:

"My beautiful girl, I know there are things that confuse you, and I know you have been abused, and you have felt pain, and while others have misused you and treated you less than kind, know this one thing for certain, I love you more than life itself, and I shall never hurt you."

"Tears sometimes fill our hearts, but they serve a purpose. They cleanse the dust that covers our mind, and they wash away the guilt. They teach us what is real. So my one wish today, on this our wedding day, is that you let laughter fill your soul, and let your heart feel the renewal that my love can give."

"My heart has felt all your pain, and the one thing that is certain, is that if I could take away your pain, so that you never cry another tear, I would gladly do so. But, since I cannot do that, I will offer you my hand, so that we at least can face the pain together. So my second wish for you today is that you let laughter fill your heart, and forget your burden and begin our new life together."

She put her hands tightly on the lapels of his jacket, and buried her head in his chest. She said, "Well now, I feel my vows are inadequate. Let's just go in there and say I do, and keep our vows to ourselves, will you do that for me?"

"I do." He smiled. He loved her.

"I do, too," she said. She loved him, and even more important, she finally had a place where she belonged.

~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~


End file.
